Nature of the Beast One Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight
by MiniKoontzy
Summary: How exactly do you befriend an introverted Predacon astronomer tasked as a "planet-hopper?" It's not easy, especially when the Predacon in question would rather run from you when you try to be friendly, gallivant through space, or else talk over comm's alone when she happens to want to talk. But patience, as Optimus always said, pays off in the end.
1. One-Shot: What's in a Name?

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

One-Shot: What's in a Name?

* _Very short. Zodiac's perspective only._

* * *

 _A ship._

 _She finally had a ship of her own. And a budding crew. Just four for now, but there was no rush to gather a crew within the deca-cycle._

 _She wasn't even that great with other 'bots, and yet they were sending her applications at least four times a cycle – five on a good cycle. She dismissed some of them as idle curiosity. Seeing a Predacon in charge of a prototype ship straight from the Crystal City docks was, she had to guess, a novelty. 'Bots were intrigued. They wanted to see the ship, and her. She smiled as she read through another application. They weren't even that subtle about it. None of them were hateful though – none that got past Rampart and Jackdaw anyway. Just wanted a look. That was all. When they got that look and she explained why she'd gotten the ship, they were satisfied and left. There was no ticking chronometer to get a crew together. Only once she had a full assembly of the basics would she be allowed on her first mission._

 _A ship._

 _She finally had a ship of her own._

 _She, a Predacon. A "wild animal."_

 _That thought hadn't yet processed as she'd flown through the halls three solar cycles ago. Its practical halls. Its blank halls._

 _That was, the Artist had argued, a problem. This vessel would be her vigvul savk when out in the expanse – it could not be one looking the way it was now. The ship had to be made a friend, not a mere acquaintance. But that was a problem easily remedied with some help from him and a few of her tribe mates. Much as she had wanted to protest that he didn't need to go to the trouble, she found herself agreeing with him. The blank walls did nothing to make it feel like a home. The ship was distant to her. A stranger. Hers, but not hers. So he had brought Skyshine, Nightscream, Warsong, Oratorio, and Gospel to add some life into the ship, and her tribe mates had scattered throughout its insides to give it some personality while she worked on sorting through applications and conducting interviews – with Jackdaw's help for the latter. Meeting with a former Academy classmate was different than meeting a stranger._

 _"Think this one's a keeper?" she asked. "She's...interesting. And fits my criteria. Pseudo-beast. Translvoid."_

 _Jackdaw took the datapad from her, scrutinized it, grinned, and agreed. She needed a Communications Officer, and this "Shatterveil" would be the perfect addition to a Sky Painter's crew. Talking in verse and being skilled in spectroscopy – would wonders never cease? That mini-con partner of hers would be handy, too. Hearsay. He chuckled. That little bugger (pardon the pun he grinned) would be interesting to work with._

 _"Whats about that other pal of yours – "Simba" I thinks you called him?"_

 _"I already accepted him. HETI doesn't like groundbridges too much, so he's driving instead. He should be here tomorrow or the cycle after. Last he checked in with me he was halfway between Tyger Pax and Kaon."_

 _Her lieutenant nodded._

 _She went back to the applications. Security officers were next on the list. She had one already, but a prototype vessel like this needed some extra protection in her opinion. Her new chief engineer wouldn't have it any other way._

* * *

 _It had taken them a mere few joors to decorate around the port holes that peeked outside with decorate techno-floral patterns. It had only taken the busy birds two solar cycles to add a few murals to the halls containing the crew quarters, and to add abstract art to the door of her own quarters. After meeting the four current members of her crew, Skyshine had made a few calls over the ship's comm. relays. Holo-stills would be sent in from Vignette and her fellow holo-artists – making sure the images were of the now five crew members' home cities. Some canvases were brought in, too, and metal hangings to adorn the walls of the occupied crew quarters. Rooms presently unoccupied they left untouched, but the Artist promised that once they were occupied they would visit again and provide them the same service._

 _The ship started to feel more like her own when ceilings of certain halls were decorated in glowing pigments meant to mimic the stars above, streaming down their lengths like jeweled rivers and splashing onto the upper walls. Constellations – the Forge, the Key, the Beast, the Time-Keeper, the Warden, the Seeker – flowed along through the stellar waters._

 _But there was still something missing. The ship had a hole in its essence, the Artist insisted, and it needed filling. Their works had not filled it._

* * *

 _Fed up with scouring over applications and interviewing for the fourth cycle in a row, and having accepted the remaining applicants, she acquired some projectors from a local crafter and set to work on a project of her own. Inspired by the efforts out in the halls, she began to install the projector of the night sky onto the ceiling of the bridge, tucked into a corner out of ready sight, and connected to the ship's visual arrays for a live-time feed. It felt right to have the stars right where she could see them whenever she looked up. An Avioid never did well unless they could see the sky, and being confined within the ship for extended periods during missions – maybe this would help keep the claustrophobia at bay until missions led her planet-side onto a new world._

 _The better the accuracy, she muttered as her tiny hands tinkered with the settings, the better the chance of being fooled._

 _The bridge doors hissed open to permit her alpha. He looked up at her. Tall and imposing as the Avioid mech was, there was a fond smile on his lip-plates._

 _"Clever," he applauded, "but can that device mimic the song of the stars?_ "

 _She dropped down,_ " _I'm sure Shatterveil can work something out through the ship's electromagnetic detectors. White noise from the CMB has to be filtered, of course, but that's easy._ "

 _He smiled softly and bowed his helm. He did not doubt she would. The niv'ytlo was wise._

 _"There's a void on the ship we can't seem to fill," he said suddenly. "I'm thinking you know it's nature."_

 _"A name," she answered. "My ship needs a name. I know."_

 _"Thought of any yet?"_

 _She nodded, "I was talking with Corona the other cycle, in between interviews. She pointed out the...erm...unusual nature of my crew. None of them are exactly normal. Translvoid who speaks in verse. Ophidian swearing machine. Helmsmech with a speech impairment. Ex-cop. Former pit-fighter. Blind Fauxline. Aquatronian colonial. Crazy Petauroid who can't shut up. Y'know. 'Bots who don't fit in. So, I had my new historian – his name's Codex – do what he does best: research. I gave him some search algorithms to make it easier on him. Difference. Oddity. Sky. Space. He found some entries about an Iatakoran deity, Tieyei, who's supposed to be a god of lightning and a patron of social outcasts."_

 _"I see," the Artist smiled. "And the name of the ship?"_

 _"Before I tell you, could you help me relief carve an image of Tieyei on the bridge doors? Just you. I have the general design."_

 _The Artist agreed, and together they stepped outside. Using a light-streamer, she outlined the basic idea – and, more importantly, her artistic image of the old deity. Her alpha nodded approval. He drew his weapon of choice: a photonic incisor._

 _"Let's get to work, then!"_

 _Within a meager few breems, one half of the deity's owlish, feather-tufted head began to emerge from the metal on one side of the door._

* * *

 _The night._

 _That was how long carving the twin, mirror images had taken. But, looking at it from a dozen paces back, she couldn't help grinning and squealing at the end result. It was exactly what she'd been going for. Tieyei's tufted, owlish head, mouth-less and mute. His long neck creating a small arc like he was bowing. His smaller reptilian eyes like tiny black holes watching the doors and those who approached. His long, half serpent and half dragon body covered in feathers, and a somehow feline, avian, and reptilian tail curled downward. His avian but furry and feline talons clasping at the door to either seal it shut or open it. Just a carving anyone would say. But there was a power in it that she could feel – like a surge through the air, it made her mesh tingle._

 _"So?" the Artist pressed. "What're you naming the ship?"_

 _She stepped forward without a word in edgewise. Her tiny, slender digits traced the lightning bolts that crashed around the deity in mirror before her._

 _"The Tieyeian Bolt," she murmured._

 _The ship seemed to growl in pleasure at the name, and the once foreign and cold halls felt warmer. The Artist's smile was broad when she looked back. He put one hand over his chassis and bowed._

 _"Then let it be my pleasure to address you first as the captain of the Tieyeian Bolt."_

* * *

Her hand traced the images on the doors once more.

Tieyei.

The relief had worn down a few mircons since its creation _–_ she'd have to clean the carvings up soon _–_ leaving once harsh angles smoother, but that power in his name was was still there, surging from the deity in mirror on the doors and into the air, but he was tame now _–_ a patient but powerful bouncer rather than a ferocious guardian spirit.

Tieyei.

God of lightning among the dead Iatakora, Codex had said he was all those cycles ago, and a guardian of social outcasts.

Frisk's voice broke the moment, * _Captain? Your XB applicant is here,_ * a pause. * _And poking me and everything else she can get her pincers on._ *

She snorted. Codex might as well just label him what he really was on this ship: the protector of quirky weirdos.


	2. Chapter 1

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 1: Daydreaming is Hazardous!

* * *

* _This is a mini-series for my Nature of the Beast story. A few people were interested in the first encounter Zodiac had with Smokescreen and how such an encounter could lead to a long-term investigative search and then a relationship, so I decided to expand upon it. This mini series is going to be pretty short in terms of number of chapters, but chapters themselves are going to be a bit longer than my usual stock of around 4,000 words, and it's not really going to be a romance story. There's going to be teensy hints at it, but this is mostly a mini series revolving around how Zodiac learned to trust him, and how that trust blossomed into a partnership between the two._

 _Warning: Cuteness and fluffiness ahoy!_

 _Secondary Warning: Lots of astronomical terms. Don't worry, 'Zee will simplify for ya'll. ;3 And also, Zodiac's specialty is planetary science, so she studies things like planets, dwarf planets, planetary formation and evolution – that sorta stuff, but she also likes dabbling in any field she finds intriguing, such as pulsars, black holes, astrobiology, and so forth._

* * *

CYBERTRON  
ELITE GUARD COMMAND CENTER, IACON

Smokescreen had just stepped out of the command center after a frankly busy solar cycle and had made his way to one of the smaller plazas that dotted Iacon's bustling city center like the scattered beads of a necklace. He had headed to one in particular that stood right outside and around the block of the massive militaristic building where he was kept occupied by Ultra Magnus. He always enjoyed coming to this side plaza, as it was less crowded than some of the others, the desertion (well, _mostly_ desertion) serving to calm his sometimes jangled nerves. Being Second-In-Command to the entire Elite Guard was utterly exhausting some days, but on the whole he enjoyed it immensely. Every solar cycle brought something new with it. Most of all he enjoyed the chance to meet new 'Bots.

So the young blue and yellow mech stood in the half-empty plaza gazing up at the skies and contemplating what all of his friends might be up to. Bulkhead he knew was in charge of one of the biggest construction teams in Iacon even though most of the time he was out in the other cities. Where he was off the top of his helm he had no idea. He could probably find out though through some of his contacts. Wheeljack helped him out occasionally, but he never really stayed in one place for too long. He was a wanderer by choice. There had been a rumor flying around recently that he'd been taken in by a pack of roaming Predacons when he'd gotten stranded out in the Acid Wastes, but he wasn't sure whether or not to believe that. Arcee and Bumblebee worked as law officers in the city and as part-time liaisons with Earth, so he saw more of them than anyone, even though 'Bee contacted him mostly through wireless means. His smile grew when he thought about Ratchet. The cantankerous old medic visited Cybertron every once in a while, but he'd developed a liking of Earth and its people and didn't stray far from the Unit E base where he helped out with technology issues. Thanks to him the Unit E soldiers had the most advanced gear in the world. They helped prevent and handle disasters both natural and artificial, and through some little quirk of Rafael, who had assisted in Unit E's foundation, each group was named after a Greek letter and a befitting constellation based on what they had done out in the field. One special group of soldiers, code named "Alpha Lupus" for their exploits, had stopped an attempted assassination of a prominent military leader by a terrorist group by "sniffing" out a mole in the Army. Another group of flight specialists had been named "Gamma Aquilae" for their superb aerial grace and piloting skills.

Idly he wondered if Optimus could see all of what going on on Cybertron and Earth from wherever he was. Was he pleased with all the progress that had been made on both worlds? Was he sad that some things political hadn't changed? Was he bored out of processor not being able to help out and do stuff to benefit the two planets? Smokescreen knew he would be. He didn't like sitting on his can and twiddling his digits. He liked being up and active. That was the main reason Magnus had picked him to be his lieutenant – to keep him busy and out of trouble.

And thus the mech stood there daydreaming of past, present, and bright future.

* * *

OUTER RING OF IACON  
APARTMENT 121

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh! I'm screwed! Oh, Corona's gonna kill me!"

Zodiac had just so happened to check her chronometer out of curiosity only to discover she was nearly a quarter of a joor late for her meeting with the head of the Iacon Observatory. She hadn't meant to lose track of time. She'd just gotten so absorbed in her reading that in had just, well, happened. Dropping the data pad clasped in her hand, she flew around her fourth floor flat in a mad search of all the data pads she actually needed, twittering in panic, both actions thus garnering the attention of her flat buddy, a jovial, older femme by the name of Lattice, who was an alchemist by trade and quite pleasant to converse with on lonely, quiet evenings when the introverted astronomer simply needed someone to talk to.

"Whoa-ho! Slow down there, femme! You'll be even later if you panic yourself into a crash! Just calm down!"

The little femme paid her almost no mind aside from a quick "just-shut-up-and-help-me-already" look cast in her direction as she flittered around the rooms looking for what she needed, her panic serving to hinder her search. At last she gave a low groaning scream of aggravation at being unable to lay her hands on the blasted thing. She'd had it just the other night! Of all the times for her work to vanish into thin air...

"Argh! Where's that data pad I was working on the other evening over pulsar planet formation and planetary migration?!"

Lattice merely chuckled, shaking her helm, and calmly disappeared into the entryway, coming back with a small data pad with an artsy cyberglyph "Zell" on the back, playfully waggling it at the other femme. Zodiac saw the data pad and shot over, snatching it in her hands in a rush as relief flooded her systems. The panic subsided marginally. Leave it to Lattice to find whatever she was looking for. That alchemist was a life saver some solar cycles. She was lucky to have someone like her as a flat buddy. She'd been a bit hesitant around her at first due to how openly friendly she was, but on hearing her talk about her work one lazy afternoon a decade or so in the past had transformed that mistrust into a tight kinship. They were both nerds about their particular subjects, and they were proud of it.

The alchemist permitted a sly, kind smile to form on her lip-plates as she kept her pink gaze on the little hawk-former in front of her. Honestly, there were times this pint-sized genius of an astronomer was the biggest scatter-brained panicker she'd ever met in her whole life. Her wits went all to pieces when she was anxious over something. One might've thought the fate of all of Cybertron depended on this meeting with all the nervousness she was displaying over it. In actually it was just a simple conference to talk about the Cybertronian Exploration and Research Fleet's latest galactic findings and to discuss their next missions. Zodiac made it a point of honor to never miss one. That she would be late for this one would ruin her record of perfect attendance.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll get you back, Latti! I promise!"

"Nah. Don't worry 'bout it. We're pals. We look out for each other. Just get on over there – and try not to crash on the way, okay? I don't think Corona would be too happy to hear you'd gotten yourself hurt just trying to get to the meeting. You know how she is."

Zodiac managed a short bark of laughter, reassuring her that she'd be careful not to do either of those things. Transforming into her avian form, she soared out of the open window and rocketed towards the glittering skyline in the near distance framed by the setting sun, data pads contained in a book-bag like apparatus she had designed herself, the sling held firmly in her sharp talons. Lattice leaned out of the window smilingly, watching the hawk-former until she was out of visual range, soon concealed by the sun's evening glare. Zodiac was crazy in her own way, being intelligent, a perfectionist, and possessing an almost irrational fear of other 'Bots, but in the grand sense it was a constructive kind of crazy. She always put one hundred and ten percent effort into her work. Then, with a shake of her helm, she set about tidying up some of the data pads her flat buddy was in the habit of laying everywhere, putting them back in their respective places, smiling to herself all the while. Knowing the little femme, one of those two things would happen out of sheer bad luck and not by her consciously being careless. But unlike Zodiac, she wasn't a pessimist concerning such accidents. Lattice was a bit more philosophical about such things. She saw them as means of learning. Mistakes often taught better lessons than perfection did.

* * *

Cities were not places the astronomer liked going to ordinarily. In her mind they were too crowded, too loud, and frankly a bit scary for one her size, not to mention crime was a greater possibility in such sectors. As such, she tended not to go into the city unless she absolutely had to. It was an introvert thing. But there were rare times where she was happy to go since it meant furthering her knowledge of her special subject. This was her first time to meet the head of the main observatory, and she'd probably made herself look like a lazy moron for arriving late.

Arriving in Iacon in a blur of midnight blue, she raced above the streets. She relied more on what she termed "bird's-optic view memory", having memorized the grand capital city's layout from her first flight over it. She visualized it in her processor's optic as a interconnected spider-web like map of streets, avenues, and byways. She could probably have flown around the city with her optics shuttered and still made it to her destination without issue, but at the moment those two royal blue orbs were flicking around madly as they scanned the skies for any air traffic. Banking hard to her left, she shot down a less busy street that acted as a convenient straight shot to the observatory that loomed ahead in the distance. She clacked her beak in annoyance on being buffeted by a sudden strong wind coming in from the direction of her destination. Without even thinking about it, she lowered down closer to the ground in the hopes of avoiding the gusts, skimming over the helms of some startled passerby. She barely heeded them, her attention focused on her chronometer.

So focused was she on arriving within half a breem that she failed to notice that one passerby hadn't moved from his spot.

Realizing only too late that he wasn't going to be able to move out of the way even if she keened a warning, and that she had no chance of stopping that fast, she fanned her tail feathers out and flared her wings in a desperate attempt to slow herself down. Privately she humorously cursed Lattice for jinxing her in this way. Bracing herself, the Avioid rammed into the poor blue and yellow mech at just under the speed of sound with a crash loud enough to have woken the dead, her grip on her book-bag lost as she reverted out of her bird form, the contents flying every which way. Her victim was sent careening to the ground in a flash, ending up a good twelve paces or so from where he'd originally been standing. The world around her almost instantly went black, and she could only assume the same for the mech.

* * *

Smokescreen came back online with a hollow groan of pain, his blue optics flickering open. The back of his helm, and frankly the rest of his body as well, ached as though he'd been trampled by a stampede of Buffaloids, but mainly the back of his helm was what hurt like the Pit. He vaguely remembered a sudden loud gust of wind that had come from behind, a little cry of pain plainly female in tone, and then...nothing. Well, nothing aside from feeling as though someone had pounded his helm in with the Forge of Solus Prime.

He pushed himself to his knees and massaged his aching helm with one hand as he looked around for whoever had rammed into him, vision still slightly fuzzy. A few passerby were standing on the fringes of the plaza and probably wondering whether or not to call a medic from one of the facilities. He was rather puzzled to note at least half a dozen little data pads lying around the crash site, one of which was within arm's reach of him and face down. The back of it was engraved with a very artistic looking cyberglyph "Zell", probably an identifier of the owner. Out of curiosity he picked it up for safe-keeping, glancing at it as he looked around for its owner.

Ah! There!

Lying close to the other side of the plaza was the tiniest little femme he'd ever laid optics on, deep midnight blue in shade like the sky at night, but her armor was surprisingly sheen less. She had a distinctly avian look to her frame, and the wing arches of a set of mechanical bird wings lay limply at her sides. A Predacon. Clutched in one hand was what he could only describe as a kind of metal book-bag. What he found the most fascinating about her was the light-emitting diodes – her little body was absolutely covered in them. The tiny diodes pulsed faintly in tandem with her life force, mimicking the twinkling of the true stars above. It was as if a piece of the night sky had been snatched down and given life and form. This had to be the strangest designed Predacon he'd ever seen, but beautiful in her own way he had to admit.

Definitely not a "normal" looking Predacon he decided.

He made his way over to her when she began to stir, gathering up the remaining data pads as he went. She looked unharmed to him from all indications; maybe a bit dazed and sore from the way she was trying to get up, but fine all around. No dents, no leaks – no injuries that needed first-aid. Thank Primus for that. Smaller 'Bots tended to be more fragile than larger ones. She was a bit of an exception to that rule, clearly. For her, tiny didn't necessarily mean fragile. Predacons _were_ some of the toughest built 'bots around.

She got up slowly, massaging her helm and then her arms, stretching and flapping her wings to test for functionality. "Ugh. Ow..." She was tomboyish in the way she sounded, bearing a distinct scratch in her voice.

He knelt down, flaring his field in a sort of energy throat clear to get her attention, laying the data pads by her pedes. Sneaking up on a Pred was never smart, and just from her tiny field and all the glyphs for uncertainty flying around in it he judged her as more than a little skittish. She whipped around right away, bright royal blue optics wide with apprehension, a scared cyber-kitten with wings. Then her gaze dropped down to the data pad bundle. She looked at it, then back up at him, and then back down. He smiled a little to try and calm her down, scooching them closer.

"These _are_ yours, right?" he asked. Very slowly she nodded.

He reached for the last data pad that he'd stored in a subspace compartment, meaning to give it to her...

And then, before he could even comprehend what had happened, the femme snatched the data pad bundle faster than his optics could register, shoved them all in her book-bag apparatus, transformed, and shot off, all within the span of less than an astrosecond. He crouched there, blinking in shock. The last little monogrammed data pad remained in his hand. In what he knew would be vain he shouted out at the top of his vocalizer that she'd forgotten one. He waited for a full breem to see if she might return for it. She never came back.

Smokescreen sighed in aggravation: "Scrap. Now how am I supposed to find her? I didn't even get her name!"

Unconsciously he looked down at the monogrammed data pad. Flipping it over, his baby blue gaze focused on the artistic cyberglyph etched on the back. It was just a letter, but it was still a place to start his search nonetheless. There couldn't be too many Avioids out there whose named began with the glyph "Zell". But where would he even _start_ looking? Iacon was a massive, sprawling city, the biggest on all of Cybertron. He couldn't just go around asking everyone he met whether or not they knew someone of that description or if they recognized the monogram. That would take way too long, and for all he knew the femme was a visitor from out of town, and if so that would make finding her in Iacon all the harder.

Noting the setting sun and deciding it was a problem best saved for a new day, he got up and transformed, heading to his small but comfortable apartment located a few kliks from the command center. Getting a fresh start was always a good way of solving a problem if you didn't know how to set about it. After a busy day helping Ultra Magnus with the Elite Guard, a solid night's power down sounded like just the cure for a tired processor. He'd let his mind mull over the issue during the night and then set about with a solution, or a means to the solution, in the morning.

Yeah. That was a good plan. Not much else he could do anyway. Thinking on a tired processor was hard.

* * *

"–and due to the tumultuous nature of the Hydrax Nebula thanks to the clusters of hyperactive protostars, my crew was wondering if perhaps we might have a skilled navigator on our roster to replace our usual one. Ours backed out as soon as he heard of that mission. Won't go anywhere near the place. Apparently Corvus Rho had a bad experience there a while back with another crew. Somethin' about a spark-eater, but I dunno whether or not to believe him. Spark-eaters haven't been seen since before the War. So, got anyone who could take his place for a mission or two?"

Neutrino, a tall, lanky green and silver mech who had been the one to speak, thus cast a curiously inquisitive look over at a flaming golden and amber femme across the table from him. Corona was quite a befitting name for the head of the Iacon Observatory for Stellar Research. She presided over the branch of the CERF responsible for studying stars in all stages of their formation and demise, from protostar to stellar remnants. While looking like someone quick to flare, she was in fact very even-tempered, if a bit hot-helmed and passionate at certain times about her particular subject. She considered the particle physicist's request, but before she could reply the doors to the chamber burst open to permit a blur of midnight blue that promptly skidded along the table until coming to a spinning halt. Unable to hold in his laughter, Neutrino cracked up at the bizarre sight of the usually tidy and on-time astronomer arriving in such a fashion, not to mention nearly two breems late for the meeting.

"Sorry! Sorry I'm late! I lost track of time, then I had to have Lattice help me find my work, and then I accidentally ran into someone because I was all panicked and not watching where I was going, got knocked out for a bit, and –" Zodiac hastened to explain as she dug around in her book-bag for the data-pads she needed. On finding it right away, she never noticed that one of the set was missing.

"Zodiac, it's alright," Corona reassured her smilingly, "I was just about to ask Neutrino here whether or not he'd be okay having you for a navigator for a mission into the Hydrax Nebula. He and his crew are going to investigate the starburst activity there, but Corvus Rho bailed on him. Interested?"

The little Avioid's jaw dropped, royal blue eyes sparkling in delight. Was Corona serious right now? The Hydrax Nebula was a hotbed for stellar formation thanks to it colliding with the Iridni Nebula just before the Great War had been brought to a true start, and that was before she'd been sparked. Such a recent collision was a rare chance to see stellar formation from the very beginning stages. Being able to study the formation of stellar embryos up close with one of the best particle physicists this side of the Expanse was the opportunity of a lifetime – a dream come true, especially since her own ship was in dry-dock at the moment after it had sustained some damage to the shielding on a previous mission. That ship was like a second home to her, so having it grounded was a pain in the aft. Sure, it gave her and her little crew some time off, but slagging Pit-fire was she egging to get out into the galaxy again.

"You bet!"

Neutrino grinned broadly: "Alright! Thanks, femme! Look for the _CERF Intervention._ I'll give you the fly date once we've got it set with the Council. Anything special you need, just name it."

She smiled, jokingly saying that all she needed was a good crew and a bit of personal space every now and again. Neutrino, with a laugh, told her not to worry then. The ship was big – she'd find plenty of little nooks and crannies to hide out in if the large number of crew drove her screwy. The _Intervention_ was a massive ship, and thus needed a big crew to man it, but they were a good lot. If she needed space every so often, they would give it to her gladly. They'd make her feel right at home on board.

Corona nodded, pleased the shy little astronomer had accepted so readily. Normally she didn't like going out of her comfort zone, but this chance was obviously too tempting for her to pass up.

"Alright then. Zodiac, could I see your findings from the last mission? What did you find out about the prevalence of planetary migration in exo-stellar systems?"

Zodiac searched the little stack of data pads she'd pulled out, only to freeze in shock on not being able to find that particular data pad. She began rambling aloud as panic gripped her spark. She was sure she'd grabbed them all from her flat and all the ones that had fallen out when...Oh no. Had she missed one, and the one she needed for this meeting no less? Was it still lying out there in the plaza, or had someone picked it up and walked off with it? How was she supposed to get it back now? It was probably long gone.

"Don't worry about it. You wrote it. You must remember at least a general idea of what was on it, right? I'm not asking for technical details like you usually give in your written reports – just a general conclusion. You can give me the data pad when you find it. Think you can manage that?"

"Oh! Yeah. Totally!" Zodiac replied. Then she began, gesticulating as she spoke, "What we found is that planetary migration is incredibly common, almost the norm, and it's the main reason gas giants are found so ridiculously close to their host stars. My data coincides with the humans' James Webb findings, actually. I sent both NASA and ESA the results of the survey, but of course no one bar the higher ups knows it came from us. 'Cause, you know, rules."

Here she paused briefly, seeming to bring up a mental image of the missing data pad's contents. Darting over to the table's center, she brought up a holographic display that would simulate some of the data she remembered off the top of her helm. A large ball of roiling yellow-ish orange plasma came up, soon joined by a system of varied, rocky worlds and bloated gas planets a bit further out. As she spoke, it altered to fit her words.

"Anyways, the planetary system itself starts out as stable, but as time goes by the star's gravity well, along with numerous other variables like debris belts, a binary partner, nearby stars causing gravitational disruptions to comet clouds, other gas giants, and planetary collisions to name a few, disrupts things. These cause the giants to be pulled towards the star, sling-shotting the tinier, rocky planets further in out into interstellar space to become rogue planets (which we also looked into) while the gas giant settles into a tight orbit close to the star, their orbits ranging from weeks to days to even mere hours. The humans even found one that's dissolving 'cause it's so close. We went over and checked it out, and it is indeed getting its outer layers blown off by the solar wind. That gas giant is literally evaporating. Thing's already lost about half its atmosphere; half the amount the humans detected when they first found it, anyway. Some time soon that thing is gonna go 'bye-bye.' No more Wasp 18b in a couple thousand years."

Neutrino couldn't help himself and chuckled at her child-like tone. Zodiac had a rare talent of simplifying even the most complex astronomical phenomena into plain, everyday wording. Personally he was wondering why she wasn't teaching at one of the academies. Such a talent could be put to great use there, but her shyness around crowds no doubt prevented that. Getting up in front of such large groups of students would likely be nightmare fuel to her. She felt safer giving reports to other knowledgeable astronomers, around mechs and femmes she knew who were much smaller in number. That was simply the way she worked. Everyone had their quirks he supposed – Zodiac's were just more noticeable.

"And what did you find out about the rouge planets?" Corona asked.

"We found that a good many of them were terrestrial worlds, but there were also a decent number of gaseous planets spinning out in the void, too. There's no general rule for types - it all depends on the size. They have to be smaller than the ones that did the gravity fling. Those were most likely smaller than the other satellites in the system and were thus flung out – probably the first to be sling-shotted since they were closer to the gas giant that became the dominant planetary body. Almost all of them were frozen over (no surprise there), but some of them were outputting tiny amounts of heat due to contraction or radioactive decay. We would've looked into the possibility of subterranean caverns or oceans possibly containing primitive microscopic life, but my ship's shielding took a beating from a nearby gamma ray burst; nearly got fried completely. I had to limp her back home for repairs."

"I heard," Neutrino admitted, "Sorry to hear. I know the _Tieyeian Bolt_ means a lot to you. But don't you worry. The techies from Crystal City can fix her right up. I think the mech who outfitted her with all those instruments is on the team doing the repairs, actually. Windstorm I think his name is. Brilliant young 'Bot. First class engineer. Knows star-ships inside and out."

Zodiac affirmed that such was the case, though she had yet to work up the courage to go up to him and talk. She contented herself most solar cycles to observing him and the others work from perches nearby while doing work of her own. The little femme admitted she found the ambient noise strangely relaxing, and she liked watching them talk amongst each other as they went about their repairs. And in any event, Windstorm was working on the interior of the ship, so she never saw him.

"Well, thank you for your report, Zodiac, "said Corona. "Don't worry about that data pad too much. You did just fine without it. I'm betting you'll get it back at some point. If not, no harm done. We'll gather data from the other members of your crew and patch the findings together if all else fails."

The little Avioid astronomer managed an accepting nod of the helm.

"So, _CERF Intervention_ , right?" Zodiac repeated.

"That's the one," Neutrino agreed, "Actually, can I get your comm. frequency so I can contact you about the fly date? I don't believe I've got it."

She pinged him her unique frequency over short band radio.

"Thanks. See you then! You got questions, just comm. me."

Zodiac permitted herself a delighted little squeal when she got the particle physicist's own comm. frequency in return for her own. Her diodes lit up and flashed like strobe lights, random symbols and constellations forming and disappearing like the world's most fantastical cosmic light show, making both Neutrino and Corona laugh. They'd neither of them ever seen her so excited.

"And if that d-pad's so important, I'll have Corvus Rho look around for it. You know, just to keep the mech busy since he declined the mission. Guy's a bit of a social butterfly with lots of connects, and even though he's lazier than a mountain he still has to take orders from me. If anyone can find out where it went, he can. I'll even have him make a back-up of it when he lays his hands on it. He'll send the back-up to Corona and the original he'll send to me, which I'll then get to you. Sound good?"

At that, the little Avioid rushed forward and offered a friendly hug to the particle physicist's neck in gratitude. She quickly let go, zipped around the table as she gathered her things and, with a reiterated thank you to the particle physicist at the table, she flew out. For a brief moment or two they thought she had already vanished out of the building in her usual speedy manner, but a high-pitched shriek of delight soon echoed down the grand halls and met the audials of the two astronomers in the hall.

They smiled broadly.

* * *

 **Author's Note: How're ya'll likin' this so far? :3 I woulda made this first chapter a bit longer, but eh. I like this length. Good place to stop here I think. I go any further and I'm gonna get too long of a chapter. Like I said, this is a mini-series, not a one-shot series.**

 ***Note 1: So sorry for delays! Workload for my five classes is insane by this point, and I'm working on more than one story at once. Literally took me a month to write this one chapter.**

 ***Edit: I did a goof! I thought the evaporating planet was designated Wasp 12b, but its actually Wasp 18b. Whoopsy! My bad! xD**


	3. Chapter 2

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 2: Hunting For a Shooting Star

* _Fair warning: Zodiac's got a bit of a dirty mouth on her. So does Lattice. Foxbear pointed out that "frack" is pretty much the equivalent of the F word. x3 I should up the rating for language, but no human bad words aside from "damn" are actually said sooo...o-o *shrugs* She may be shy but she's really a loud-mouthed tomboy once that shyness goes away._

 _*Also, it's my personal head-cannon that the Elite Guard has more than one Commander to help ease the pressure the heads face ordering around thousands of troops. And each of those Commanders has one or two lieutenants. My logical brain just sees that as more efficient than having just two 'Bots in charge of the whole fleet._

* * *

Outside, the sun had sunk below the horizon and the twin moons were just starting to peek out of hiding in the west. A few bright stars slowly twinkled to life above. Activity in the streets below was winding down as workers drove home from the city in the near distance. Everywhere, lights were coming on to ignite the darkness of nightfall. Lattice was just beginning to settle in for the evening when the latch for the window unlocked itself by remote command and a midnight blue, star-studded blur shot in like some cosmic bullet, slamming into her and knocking her on her backstrut. For a klik or two she lay there dazed and wondering what in the name of the Primes had just hit her, vision fritzing all the while. When her optics re-calibrated she found herself faceplate-to-faceplate with a mechanical hawk that looked as though it had just been given a shot of Red Energon. It seemed to just barely be resisting the urge to spontaneously combust.

"'Zee? What in the Pit! Give me some warning before you go barreling into me! I'm gonna start deadlocking that damned window if you keep this up!"

In reply, the mechanical hawk lightly bumped her beak against her in apology. Quickly she removed herself and let the alchemist get back to her pedes, hovering above her as the diodes covering her body flashed like firecrackers. Never, never had Lattice ever seen Zodiac this hyped up and energetic. She was always cheerier when coming back from the CERF meetings but what she was seeing right now was outright ecstasy – she was behaving as if she had just been promoted or given an award or something. Then the hawk transformed...and promptly began shrieking like an over-excited sparkling:

"Ohmygosh! Ohmygosh! Lattice you're not gonna believe it! Neutrino asked me to be navigator for the _Intervention's_ mission into the Hydrax Nebula!" she squealed.

The alchemist had the grace to let her jaw drop even as a smile formed. "Get outta here! Seriously?! The _Intervention_ , one of the most famous ships in the entire fleet, captained by one of the best particle physicists ever sparked, crewed by the finest in their respective fields – we are talkin' about the same ship here right? This isn't some newbie knockoff needing a dry run?"

Zodiac shook her helm vehemently. "No! It's _THE Intervention_! Can you believe it?! And he asked _me_ to be navigator!" she squealed again in delight.

"What the scrap happened to his regular? He get sick or something?"

Her expression became more thoughtful as the original excitement died down somewhat. She landed on the back of a lounge chair, tapping her chin as she said:

"Got cold pedes for one reason or another. Refused to go. Dunno why. Was never really explained. I'll have to ask. I mean, should I though? That might be nosing into something that's not my business. What if by asking Neutrino decided not to have me on the crew? What if Corvus finds out about my snooping and never goes to find that data pad I lost in the plaza? What if –?"

Lattice lightly bopped a hand on her helm. "Think positive, femme. I kinda doubt you asking why exactly you were offered this position is gonna result in some social apocalypse of your own making. And what's this about a missing d-pad?"

Rather hesitantly, Zodiac explained. When she finished it was clear the alchemist was resisting the urge to laugh. As it was, she managed a stifled snicker that made the little astronomer glare at her in amused annoyance. It was pretty clear she was blaming her for the accident and the lost data pad and not some vague force like fate or even Primus deciding to have a little laugh at her expense. The guy was a bit of a joker in Lattice's opinion, and he definitely wouldn't be above screwing around with someone like Zodiac just to see her react in the "oh-scrap-something-out-of-my-control-happened-and-now-the-world's-gonna-go-up-in-flames" melodramatic way she did.

"'Zee, seriously. It's just a d-pad. They can be replaced easy. And from the way he acted around you, he seemed like a pretty decent guy. Maybe he can help you find it if you ask him?"

"That's just it, Latti! I don't know the guy! I don't know where he lives, I don't know his name, I don't know what he's like. All I know is that he's Elite Guard. That's it! That is literally all I've got to work on. Do you have any idea how many Elite Guard members there are? _Thousands_! That's...that's like trying to triangulate your position with only one reference angle! It doesn't work like that..." she tapped two digits together shyly, "and you know how nervous I get around strangers."

Lattice snorted, "Obviously, seeing as you grabbed your book bag filled with d-pads, that he _thoughtfully helped gather up after you nearly took his helm off_ mind you, and zipped away without so much as a thank you tossed his way. You _really_ need to work on your people skills, 'Zee. That was rude. I know you were scared and in a hurry but still. Least you could've done was display some sort of gratitude through your field. It's not like you had to verbally say anything, y'know. Glyphs work just as well. And take note that he was trying to not to make any abrupt movements 'cept for that last one."

The astronomer hung her helm, fully aware of her blunder. She knew that, but it was much easier said than done. Around her little close-knit group of friends, acquaintances and co-workers she did just fine. Toss a stranger into the equation and any social skills she had displayed beforehand went flying out the nearest airlock screaming bloody murder. It was just part of who she was – encoded into her personality. She could help it – but only just.

She looked up when Lattice placed a hand on her small shoulders. "I was about to turn in. You should probably do the same. We'll get this schemozzle sorted out come tomorrow. But it might take a bit."

Zodiac nodded, admitting that a solid joor or so of power down sounded pretty good to her even if she really wanted to do some stargazing tonight – no clouds, and there was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. Of course, there was still the issue of the moons producing an annoying amount of light, but that could be worked around with her optic modifications.

"I'll finish up in here. You go on. Skedaddle. Get some rest. After that little crash, you probably need it, huh?" said Lattice.

When Zodiac's helm tilted to the side she knew well enough what the Avioid was thinking: shouldn't she help? Lattice thus shooed her off her perch with a stern look in her optics, convincing her flat-mate to dart back to her room. A keen of acceptance was shot in her direction about an astrosecond or two before the door into her room hissed shut. Lattice smirked and shook her helm. This femme had the oddest personality she'd ever come across. Lucky for her she had rammed into someone so decent. Most 'Bots might have been more than a little irate at such a crash, but this one had done nothing but be kind to Zodiac. She could only imagine the Avioid's confusion at such a reaction, the questions that were undoubtedly rapid-firing through her clever little processor.

* * *

Zodiac, rather than heed her flat-mate's advice to power down for the night, chose to go out onto the tiny balcony that overlooked the Outer Ring. A cool breeze swept past her as she stepped out, whistling through her metallic feathers. For a moment or two she shuttered her optics and simply enjoyed the sensation of the wind and the soft songs of the stars above. She was an introvert like none other, but she enjoyed being outside. The star songs were easier to hear. That meteor shower wasn't supposed to happen until around 3200, but staying online through the night wasn't unheard of. Listening to the star songs was at once knowledge and leisure to her. For lack of a better description, the stars seemed to "speak" to her in an odd sort of code only she could understand.

But the sense was different now on this night. Something in their song had changed.

She perched herself precariously on the railing and watched as the twin moons slowly rose higher and higher. Idly she began re-calibrating her optics to filter the unwanted light out, performing this easy task as a means of passing the time and readying for the coming cosmic downpour. Once the annoying glare light had been dimmed to her liking, she began to let her mind wander alongside her optics. Her thoughts went back to the incident in the plaza of their own accord. It was strange. Normally she was quite certain as to why she ran from specific 'Bots. She just got a certain... _vibe_ around others, good or bad, like an energy field. If the vibe was good, there was a slight chance she'd stick around simply to satisfy her curiosity. If bad, she typically got the heck out of dodge before the other 'Bot could so much as half shutter their optics. The mech she'd rammed into hadn't given her a bad vibe at all. And yet she'd booked it out of there as if he had.

Lattice was right. That had been rude of her.

The logical part of her processor started to hum to life, playing back the whole scenario and analytically picking it apart. True that she mayn't have gotten a bad vibe from him, and he'd seemed friendly enough, but that movement of his – reaching for something – had made her incredibly nervous. He could've been reaching for anything from a gun to a knife to who knew what. Or...wait a klik...

"Oh slag me..." she groaned in realization, "he had the missing d-pad, didn't he? Aww, c'mon!" her shout echoed into the night.

That movement hadn't been him reaching for something dangerous. It had been him attempting to hand her data pad back. He'd probably had the thing land quite close to him after the crash and he'd taken it for safe-keeping. And she hadn't bothered to stick around to accept it back from him! Stupid, stupid! Why was it that she just couldn't interact normally with others?

Her royal blue optics darted down from the skies to glare piercingly at the ground below. She snapped, "Oi! You! Stop screwing with me for giggles! You are making fun of my social anxiety and it's not funny! You hear me?! Not funny!"

No verbal answer came, only the slow, steady chugging of Cybertron's inner workings. But she could've sworn that the steady sound had a sudden pattern to it and that the volume of it increased almost imperceptibly. In spite of the annoyance bubbling in her spark, a smirk of a smile soon formed. She stuck out her glossa childishly at the ground, subconsciously knowing the ancient entity could see her do so.

He wanted to screw with her, did he? Fine. She'd screw right back.

She re-positioned herself on the railing, leaning against the side of the building where the railing ended. One leg dangled off while the other arched up on the rail's top to keep her balanced. For a moment or so she listened to see if the chugging pattern would return. Sure enough, it seemed to. Lattice's opinion of him was right. The guy really was a little pranker who loved a good joke. She looked back down at the planet's surface below, the smirking smile broadening.

"Frack you."

With a sigh she looked back up, patiently waiting for the time to tick by and the show above to commence.

* * *

In Iacon's city center, a lone mech stood on a balcony near the top of the Hall of Records looking out over the bustling metropolis. Smokescreen was restless and dissatisfied. His processor was so active that he had a dozen trains of thought going at once.

Before heading for the barracks for the night he'd thought that maybe stopping by the massive archival building might provide some leads he could follow come morning. After all, almost every piece of information was stored there or passed through their servers. Much to his annoyance, all the archivists had been able to provide was that the data pad with the elegant monogram had never come their way. They weren't able to gain access to its contents either – it was too heavily encrypted by security protocols – protocols, moreover, that were obviously homemade. That was why the couldn't break in they had said. Those protocols didn't fit any of the decryption algorithms they had.

That in itself had gotten him curious. A data pad with data that had yet to pass through the Hall's servers, protected by complicated security protocols...was the femme a researcher? Her star-studded appearance might indicate she worked in one of the space-based branches, but that might be the wrong assumption to make. He knew more than a few 'Bots whose appearance seemed to contrast with their chosen careers. Slag, she might just have a like of looking that way. A kind of fashion statement. He frowned then. She'd seemed so _scared_ of him, too, like she was afraid he'd up and start shooting her or something. Did she have no idea who he was? Or was the femme just naturally skittish around others? Sure seemed that way, but he had the odd sense that there might be more to in than that. And that speed of hers when she'd run from him...there was no doubt in his mind she was a speed-gifted. There weren't many of those, so that narrowed the field further. Sighing softly, he leaned against the railings and tried in vain to piece all the information together. His tired processor refused to cooperate and soon his thoughts had gone down less strenuous lines. At least now he had a starting point to work off. That was better than working blind. The femme was almost certainly a scientist of some type. He was hesitant to jump to any conclusions other than that. Both Optimus and Alpha Trion had taught him to only conclude when he had enough data to do so. Right now, he just didn't have enough to go any further.

' _Come on, Optimus. Can't you give me a little help here?_ _Even just a hint or, I dunno, maybe a sign? I'll be happy with either. Just gimme something more to work with here._ '

A streak of pale silver fire shot across the darkened sky, bright enough to force him to lift his gaze upwards. Within moments another flash of silver illuminated the sky. By the time a breem had passed the night sky was positively ignited with silver streaks of light raining down like cosmic raindrops. Not even the strong light of the twin moons could dim the beautiful display by much. He allowed his jaw to drop at the breathtaking spectacle. He hadn't been aware there was a meteor shower tonight, and this one was incredible. Each streak was a bright flash of ghost-like silver that was devoured by the darkness – there and then gone. Kind of like that little femme from earlier today...

His thoughts wandered back to the question at hand. How was he ever going to find her? She seemed to have vanished. Just like the falling meteors above seemed to vanish. There and then gone. There and then gone.

The question was: How did you catch a shooting star?

Smokescreen watched as a particularly bright meteor flashed in the skies. It streaked clear over the Hall as it punched through the atmosphere and arced off towards the wilderness outside the city. A heavy impact could be faintly discerned, followed by a small but powerful flash of flame-colored light. Barely visible against the dark sky was a thin column of smoke rising. Moments later a black chrome and cobalt Seeker shot by in a scream of its engine as if mad, flying close enough to the balcony to cause a great rush of wind to buffet him. He didn't recognize the aircraft as anyone he knew personally but it didn't take much to guess it was part of the space-based branches. Why else would it be in such a rush to go find a piece of space rock? Only space-geeks flipped out like that jet had, and that color scheme was kind of a dead give away, too.

Wait a klik...

A sudden smile formed. He glanced up.

"Okay. I can take a hint. In the morning though. I gotta go report in before Magnus sends the whole fragging Guard after me. Psh. And that's even if I have the time to look around or if she's even still in the city. Do you have any idea how busy he keeps me? It's gonna take forever with how little free time I have now. Ugh. I swear he wants to run me into the ground some days," He konked his helm crest against the banister out of comical exasperation. "You don't know the craziness I have to deal with...I'm tellin' you, I need one of those little targets the humans have that says 'Bang Head Here!' That's how crazy some cycles get."

He looked back up then, curiosity glittering in his optics. "Or do you? Do you understand the craziness? I mean, we didn't give you _that_ much trouble, did we? Well, actually, maybe me and Miko and Wheeljack did, but not everybody else. You know what? Not even counting 'Jackie. That slagger's legit crazy."

Unless he was hearing things he swore his audials picked up a faint, deep-toned chuckle on the warm night wind. He looked back up at the skies, smiled, and laughed back.

"Night, Optimus. Talk to you later."

* * *

On the other side of the city, Zodiac too saw the meteor fall from the heavens and land somewhere outside Iacon's walls. She too saw some of her fellow astronomers both grounder and flier begin a mad rush to get to the crash site for analysis. She noted more than a few flashes of pale turquoise light that signified groundbridges being used. In an eerie coincidence her sharp optics spotted the same black chrome and cobalt Seeker that Smokescreen had observed. Unlike Smokescreen she knew the Seeker. That's to say, she knew his name and job and nothing more: Coma. He worked in the space-environment branch of the CERF as a specialist on small solar system bodies. But unlike her associates busy scrambling about she remained where she was. Meteors weren't her specialty. All the astronomers currently rushing out in the dead of night held some degree of specialization when it came to the small, wandering bodies. She was more interested in being out traipsing around the galaxy looking for planets or cosmic oddities like magnetars or pulsars or black holes. It was the "weird" stuff in astronomy that fascinated her. Hunks of space rock? Not so much. That's not to say she wasn't interested in them at all, she just didn't get quite the same thrill from examining them.

And with the shower nearing its end, she had no true reason to stay out here. With a nod to the skies as if in thanks, she slid off the rails and made her way back inside. She flew up to a thick bar of metal the protruded out of the wall on the far side of the room, wrapped her talons around it, and quickly nodded off.

Tomorrow would be a busy day. She would find that data pad if it was the last thing she did. She would not let all her hard word go down the drain.

* * *

IACON STAR-SHIP DOCKING BAYS  
 _CERF INTERVENTION_  
0900 HOURS

Earlier that same morning, Zodiac had recieved a transmission from Neutrino. Normally a passionate hater of mornings, the little Avioid had jumped to full alertness on receiving it. The call had been to inform her that a fly date had been set for the next solar cycle and that he needed her to come to the ship and run some diagnostics on the tracking and navigation systems. And so she had gone straight away without any hesitation. It had been all she could do to keep from squealing and waking Lattice. She'd seen the _Intervention_ before, of course. Many was the time she had gawked at the massive yet streamlined silver and dark green cruiser from afar. Compared to her small but speedy ship the thing was a space-faring ocean liner. But to actually be able to see the ship from the inside and mess around on the command deck with all its systems? Now she could fully appreciate how bewildering and even intimidating the vessel was in size. Honestly, she wasn't used to having so much space but Primus was it _awesome_.

And so, at a time she was usually still in power down, the astronomer busily worked away on the navigation consoles, fiddling with the calibrations until she was satisfied with the parameters. Going into a nebula usually wasn't incredibly dangerous, but the Hydrax was immensely active and filled with young stars pumping out absurd amounts of radiation that could fry a star-ship's systems in a spark pulse, and littered with debris from formation and collisions. Active nebulae themselves also tended to interfere with space-bridges due to the varying frequencies emitted by the protostars. Make a mistake in a place that crazy and they'd be stranded out there for Primus knew how long.

The Avioid turned on hearing pedefalls. She was expecting Neutrino. The burnt orange and amber mech standing just on the bridge's threshold awoke no chord of recognition.

"So you're who the Captain picked as a replacement for Corvus, huh? No offense, I was expecting someone a little...taller."

She stared silently at him, royal blue optics round in apprehension.

"Zodiac, right? I'm Neutrino's SIC. Name's Sunflare. Radiation specialist."

More silent staring.

Sunflare's marigold optics blinked once as his helm tilted to one side. "Uh...you okay?"

She continued to stare, mirroring his tilted helm. He seemed the friendly sort even if he seemed a little bit meek and shy and frankly confused. That last bit she couldn't blame him for. The number of 'bots who didn't find her at all strange could be counted on one hand, and due to her limited outside connections she wasn't exactly well-known either despite her accomplishments in her particular field. She liked her little bubble of friends, the bubble itself only expanding when she was certain it was safe to expand it.

"Um...alright," said Sunflare slowly, "I'll just, uh, let you go back to what you were doing and, um, yeah. Just...let me know if you need anything. Neutrino's not aboard, so I'm kind of in charge of things right now. 'Kay?"

Finished with his announcement, Sunflare ducked out of the bridge.

Letting a faint sigh escape her vocalizer, Zodiac set back to work, listening to the faint ambient noise of the ship, the crew, and the dimmed cacophony of the outside world. Every couple of breems after that the friendly yet awkwardly shy Sunflare would pop in to the bridge, check on her, and leave. Each time she grew less and less nervous around him until, at the 1100 mark when he showed up next, she managed a meek smile at him.

And Sunflare returned it.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hehehe. This is the 5th chapter I've managed to get out this break. Go me! :D**


	4. Chapter 3

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 3: A Good Astronomer Is Hard To Find

* * *

ELITE GUARD CENTRAL COMMAND

IACON, INNER CITY

1000 HOURS

Ultra Magnus took a certain pleasure in breaking in some of the new recruits in the sparring ring. It helped him to get a sense of who to put under Smokescreen and Chromia's command and who would stay under his command. If they liked a certain leniency in command style and were prone to thinking far outside the box, he would send them on to Smokescreen. If they were more rule-abiding they were relegated to either Chromia or himself. He did have to admit that Smokescreen was showing himself to be a good leader, and that was probably due to his youth. Thanks to it, he tended to connect better than Ultra Magnus or Chromia with the younger mechs and femmes. He had an...energy to him as well, an ability to get everyone pumped up and ready to go. Chromia and he were a bit more toned down on the energy, their command style a little more strict. As such, they tended to deal with War veterans or older 'bots in general. That didn't mean the two recruit types never interacted though. He had seen enough of Optimus's command style before his...departure that allowing different styles to mingle was healthy for team dynamics. Sometimes you needed a rebel or ten in the ranks so you could see things a little differently. And sometimes you needed someone with their pedes on the ground to keep the enthusiasts from flying helmfirst into a building in their excitement.

But he was done with the sparring for now. Now, he sat at his desk in his office going over field reports from Smokescreen and Chromia. There were still Decepticon outliers in the cities who were causing trouble, unlike some of their better behaved kin. Optimus would consider such news a disappointment. Megatron's order for disbandment had not gone over well, even after over two decades. But that some were willing to live peacefully with their Autobot counterparts was a good sign. Some at least understood that war was not something to try and provoke – not after it had forced their planet into hibernation, nearly exterminated their entire species, and had brought Unicron within a fiber's width of murdering Cybertron for good.

By provoking war, you invited Unicron onto your front doorstep.

As for Megatron...no one was quite sure what had happened to him. He'd simply disbanded the Decepticons and flown off to parts unknown. Some thought him dead, but every so often there were rampant rumors of a great grey warrior – a "Grey Ghost" – out in the wilds who assisted in the recovery of Predacons and civilians who had gotten caught in acid storms, mobbed by scraplets, or even wounded by an attacker and left for dead. This warrior never asked for thanks or recompense – he simply vanished from the scene, silent as a specter. He'd tried to have Smokescreen investigate, but the grey warrior always left before the youth could get there. He and the other members of Team Prime knew it was Megatron. He knew this was Megatron's way of apologizing to his friend – his friend who had surrendered his life so everyone else could live again. The former warlord was paying back a lifetime of debt the only way he knew how.

His musings were interrupted by a knock on his door, a knock he recognized.

"Come in, Smokescreen."

The blue and yellow youth stepped in from the halls looking a little ill at ease and embarrassed.

"Ah, hi. I was, uh...I'm kind of here to ask a favor of you, sir. Technically two. I-Is that okay?"

Ultra Magnus eyed him curiously, a single brow ridge rising. "What sort of favors do you need from me?"

"Heh," Smokescreen rubbed his neck awkwardly. "That's...kind of a long story. I mean, I could paraphrase if you want."

"I'm not busy at the moment. Tell me what the problem is."

Piece by piece (and rather incoherently he noticed) the youth told his story. Then he voiced his first request to him.

"You need some time off in order to track down the owner of a data pad and return it to her?" Ultra Magnus repeated. There was a faint note of surprise in his voice. Yet more evidence of his maturity.

"Yeah. And that kinda brings me to favor number two – technically it's just a question, I guess: Do you know anyone in the CERF who might be able to lend me a hand in finding her? I got a hint from...somebody that she's one of the space geeks; only problem is I don't actually know anyone in that field. I was kinda hoping you might know someone. They might not know her, but maybe one of them could point me in the right direction."

The Commander considered for a moment in silence before speaking, "The CERF consists of hundreds of individuals, Smokescreen, and they associate with thousands of members of other research fields," he began slowly, earning a downcast look from him, "but as it so happens I think Perceptor might be of help to you. He's not part of the CERF himself, but he is a renowned physicist whose knowledge is often shared with them, and that intellect was put to good use during the War. He knows me. Tell him I sent you and I'm sure he would be willing to help with this. But how much time do you need to get this done?"

Smokescreen replied back a bit hesitantly, "Two or three solar cycles give or take? Four maybe, but that might be pushing it a little, I know. If I come up with zilch in that time I'll report back in and try again later. Might mean she's from another city and won't be back for a while. But I just...I dunno. Some instinct is telling me she's Iaconian. She's also a Predacon – Avioid – and speed-gifted, so hopefully that'll narrow down the search a bit. The only other speed-gifted Pred I know about is Cheetor over in Crystal City. So..." he shrugged.

"Very well. Leave granted. Three solar cycles starting tomorrow. I'll get Jazz to take your place during that time. If you fail to find anything I'll see if I can't arrange some daily time off for you every every other solar cycle or so. I can't have you off your post entirely for too long, but I can see you're determined to see this through."

"Thank you, sir."

He left.

* * *

 _Seven solar cycles later..._

His systematic investigation had started out cautiously promising. But after the fourth or fifth lead Smokescreen had begun to grow frustrated. None of the CERF scientists he went to seemed to know her personally. Some had recognized the visual description, having caught fleeting glances of her, but they were unable to provide a name or an address. He'd kept going though, constantly telling himself that maybe, just maybe, the next mech or femme down the line might know the Avioid. But after the three solar cycle mark he was beginning to resign himself to failure. No one he went to had heard of her. It was almost like she didn't even exist. She didn't seem to have any friends, he had failed to locate her Guardian or Guardians (if she had even had any) and if she did he hadn't gotten to them yet, or they hadn't stepped forward.

' _Or maybe she doesn't want to be found_?' he mused.

Having seemingly failed on the social aspect of the hunt, his most recent lead on this bright day led him to the shop of one Sanskrit, one of the dozen or so professional monogrammers in the city. She dealt with personal identification marks, and the monogram definitely looked to be designed by the customer. Privately he did have to admit the little Avioid had very good artistic tastes. When she made a personal mark on her property she went all out. And that was a good thing. More elaborate marks tended to cost more than simple ones, and big payments were something business owners tended to remember. Perhaps he'd been going about this the wrong way, and a more indirect approach was needed. If the femme didn't have much of a social circle, then maybe he could try to backtrack his way to her through things like purchases.

He pulled off the main thoroughfare through Iacon's city center and into a smaller, less busy side street lined with businesses ranging from treat shops to automotive upgrade shops. The youth stopped at one whose sign proclaimed in flowing, bold cyberglyphs that it belonged to the artist in question. Nodding to himself, he stepped in through the door. There weren't many 'bots inside this early in the morning, and the traffic on the main thoroughfare into the downtown sectors had been no laughing matter.

Smokescreen quickly spotted a medium height femme of golden and red whose black accented frame was spotted with paint. He guessed this was the owner, and she seemed in the middle of carving a monogram into a thin piece of metal. Well, he assumed it was a monogram, but a closer inspection revealed she seemed to be merely testing the focus of the laser point. The metal was covered in random cyberglyphs and symbols both modern and ancient artistically intertwined that created a mesmerizing pattern, reminding him of the incredible, intricate henna designs of Earth.

"Sanskrit?" he hazarded.

The golden and red femme's helm snapped up, revealing a pair of vibrant ruby optics. When she spoke, her voice sounded distinctly Vizanthan, "Lieutenant Smokescreen? Oh my! A thousand apologies. I did not see you enter."

"No biggie. I just got a little problem I hope you might help me with. Problem of identity."

She looked at him expectantly. Reaching into a subspace pocket, he brought out the tiny data pad and laid it on the worktable. Sanskrit took it and examined it with a keen glance, digits tracing the elaborate "Zell" glyph etched into the back. She hemmed thoughtfully as a single digit hovered above the artistic starry, nebulous design behind it, and what Smokescreen thought looked like vague recognition flickered in her ruby optics.

"Any idea whose mark that is? It looked sorta like your style which I why I came here. I'm trying to get it back to the owner but I have no idea who she is. And she is _not_ making herself easy to find. She's not got a social circle from what I've found so far, so I'm going around the other way – indirect."

"It does look like my style, yes," Sanskrit admitted slowly, thoughtfully, "however there are a few differences to it. For one, the main design is bolder than what I usually go for. See how thick the glyph is, and yet then how it tapers off here and here? I prefer a light, more abstract style. I admit the artistic backing looks more like my work – slenderer, more elegant in weight. This was most likely made by one of my apprentices. I'll look into the logs and see who completed this order for you. One moment, please."

Smokescreen leaned forward onto the table while he waited. The wait was only a terrestrial minute or so.

"Hm. Yes, one of my apprentices was the one who completed the design request. However he is on business in Polyhex and will not be back for a few solar cycles. And – Mm. This is unusual."

"What?" he leaned in to try and peer at the display, prompting the femme to smile at him.

"The purchaser did not leave an address or even a full name. She ordered it under the single cyberglyph "Zell" and did not give us contact details. She seems to enjoy anonymity for some reason. Odd since according to the logs she put it in in person when she came."

She was about to say something further when a faint groan of aggravation escaped Smokescreen's vocalizer. Then

 _THUD!_

Sanskrit's helm jerked to stare back at the work table. Smokescreen's own helm had solidly impacted the table and it didn't look like it would be rising any time soon. Glyphs for frustration, annoyance, and even one or two for hopelessness jumped around in his field. She had to admit she becoming intrigued. He seemed very intent on getting the little data pad back to this mysterious "Zell" femme and was quickly losing patience when it came to her love of remaining far below the public radar. Because of that his task was going to be far from easy. But he wasn't the most resourceful, well-liked lieutenant in the Elite Guard without due reason. He was good with 'bots, very good, and he had a sharp processor.

"'M never gonn' find her..." he mumbled morosely.

"Smokescreen, there's one other thing I'd like to point out. The background design behind the cyberglyph closely mimics the tribal markings of the Sky Painters. Also, as a side note, the payment for the design was put through under the tab of the Cybertronian Exploration and Research Fleet, not "Zell" herself. I believe the CERF has a habit of getting their scientists to mark their belongings to prevent robbery or plagiarism of another's work. It doesn't happen often from what I hear, but it does occur every now and again. Perhaps someone there knows her?"

His helm rose from the table, "Trust me, I tried that route already. I went through Perceptor, then a couple of other physicists and astrophysicists over the past solar cycle or so but none of them knew her. They admitted to seeing her briefly a few times but that's it. Don't know her name. She never spoke with them. It'd help if I could get into the slagging thing and see what's on it, but that was a bust too – homemade encryption that the Iacon code-breakers in the Hall couldn't bust through."

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong fields. The stars and nebulae might be a hint that she works in one of the stellar research fields, not astrophysics. While there are many mechs and femmes in both fields and, though they do interact with each other quite frequently, that is often through wireless scientific reports and findings. Astronomical research is a connected study field and yet each branch maintains a certain separation to prevent a confusion of data. And obviously this "Zell" might have trouble reaching out to make friends."

The glyphs for hopelessness began to fade on hearing that.

"Which one do you think I should try first?" he asked her, "I've heard of the Sky Painters and they're dances and stuff, but I think they're nomadic and never stay in one place for too long. Like being 'on the wind' from what I heard from Darksteel. I'm not even sure where they are right now. I mean, last I heard they were way over in Vos. Or was it Tyger Pax? I'm not sure. Either way, that's a long ways away and I'm not sure if I can convince Magnus to let me go. And I gotta get back to headquarters soon."

"Then I suggest the stellar research route whenever you get a chance later on," Sanskrit advised. "Someone in that branch might actually know her. I will warn you though – stellar research is a fairly large branch since it encompasses dozens of other fields like planetary science, spectroscopy, radiology, cosmology, and more. You might need to narrow your search further somehow."

Smokescreen pushed himself off the desk, expression thoughtful. Soon he nodded to himself, grabbing the mysterious "Zell" data pad, thanking Sanskrit and heading for the door. Those were the best leads he had gotten thus far. But he had no idea when he'd be able to follow up on it. Magnus was expecting him back really soon, and the days he could actively search weren't exactly common. He couldn't fault the Commander for that though – he needed him. But right as he was about to exit, he paused. Something didn't add up.

"Sanskrit? How do you know so much about the CERF?"

The femme smiled again, laughing a little at his intrigued tone.

"I'm an artist enthusiast – one who feels that the universe's beauty is unmatched and who tries her best to convey it in her work."

Smiling back and thanking her once more, he left the femme's business.

* * *

THE CERF _INTERVENTION_

 _Two cycles later..._

Neutrino strolled towards the bridge of his ship, arms folded behind his back, his pace leisured and unhurried. He paused at a porthole that revealed the colorful, ionized clouds of dust and infant spheres of light that the Intervention was surrounded by. A smile formed on his lip-plates. This mission was going wonderfully so far despite the danger lurking outside in the glowing stellar nursery. Zodiac was adapting remarkably well to his crew, and her navigation and piloting skills were nothing short of mind-boggling. Add to that her extensive astronomical knowledge and she could probably pilot a star-ship on her own if that were physically possible. There was a certain...a certain grace with which she piloted. Massive as the _Intervention_ was compared to her tiny but speedy ship, the _Tieyeian Bolt_ , she still piloted it less like a ship and more like a gigantic bird. There was no abruptness in her turns or decelerations.

The particle physicist passed by the porthole, idly wondering if Corvus Rho had made any progress in tracking down the little Avioid's data pad. Anyone who knew her knew that tracking her down if you didn't know her was next to impossible. Honestly, Rho was probably having an easier time tracking down the crash victim than the crash victim might be having in tracking the owner down. A chuckle escaped his vocalizer only to cut off on hearing something unusual coming from the bridge. He couldn't quite make it out, so he quickened his pace. When he did make it to the bridge's sliding doors he paused just outside, not fully believing what he was hearing from inside.

Singing. Someone was seriously jamming out on the bridge, and he recognized the tomboyish voice right away.

"... _bein' myself is what I do. I do. I do! I go my own way! My call every single day – no matter what they say! Yeah, I go my own way – my way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! My way! I go my own way!_ "

So focused was he on listening to the last ringing note that he failed to to notice the door sliding open right in front of him, and he barely took heed of Sunflare joining him at his side. Zodiac's sharp audials unfortunately heard the door slide open with a soft hiss, and she whipped around to stare at them both. The look on her faceplates showed she was debating bolting under their pedes and vanishing into the ship's interior. Her wings folded as she tried to shield her faceplates from the two onlookers. If she were capable of blushing like a human, she probably would be.

Sunflare slowly applauded in almost unconscious way. "Wow. Just...wow."

"Once a Sky Painter, always a Sky Painter, eh?" Neutrino wondered.

"Wait, what?" Sunflare demanded.

Zodiac stared apprehensively at them both, still obviously debating fleeing. Eventually she sighed. The wings folded back behind her. As they watched, the diodes on her right arm ignited to form a slender artist's brush before the diodes simply began cascading down the limb like a river. A faint wispy glow could just barely been seen on her mesh. Sunflare assumed it was some sort of special paint that only reacted to the wavelength of her diodes, but he had to admit how oddly like a nebula it looked. Where – where had he seen that before? Kalis? Polyhex?

Sunflare's mouth dropped open, "Y-You're a Sky Painter? Seriously? That's amazing! I love those guys! Their aerial dances are incredible!"

"Yeah, well – I'm not much of a performer. I'm part of 'em, yeah, and have some of their talents, but like I said – not a performer. Don't like crowds, and I don't like those crowds all staring at me." Zodiac explained in a mumble, shifting uncomfortably.

"You weren't...kicked out, were you?" the burnt orange grounder asked tentatively.

She shook her helm, replying with a hint of offense in her voice, "'Flare, they're not sparkless jerks. Other 'bots call Predacons forceful, and some tribes do kick out members, but that's if they commit crimes. The Sky Painters are pretty laid back. They tried to help with the stage fright actually, but it just...it never really worked; never really took. Some things just can't be fixed. Besides, the Artist – our alpha – thinks that art takes many forms. Science is one of 'em. I left the tribe to join the CERF, but I'm still with them. I contact 'em every now and again to see how they're doing, and a few of them always love to hear me talk about my work. I'm...well, I'm their pet space nerd."

Sunflare grinned. Here he thought he'd known her pretty well by this point, and now she had revealed she was part of the planet-renowned Sky Painters. Retrospectively, that actually made sense – it explained her expert flying and piloting skills. Many Sky Painters were sparked acrobats, able to fly practically like experts the moment they emerged from the Well, leading to their flawless coordination during their aerial displays. Zodiac was obviously one of those acrobats, but because of her fear of strangers and love of remaining low profile, very few of the CERF had ever found out.

"So, how're things going up here?" he asked then.

"All good. I've gotten a few alerts from the scanners about some huge energy surges from some of the nearby T Tauri stars. I sent it along to engineering deck and they've already rerouted a bit more power to the shields. Got nothin' to worry about. Only way these shields go down is if we get blasted by a gamma ray burst, and there are no sources for GRBs in the neighborhood – well, none close enough to deal us a beating. There's one black hole/neutron star pair that could cause a GRB, but it's about three hundred seventy parsecs away. Most we'll get here is a tingle in the shields and a minor disruption to our EM fields if the neutron star merges while we're out here. Very low chance for that though."

Sunflare nodded, "Engineering told me about the surges; just wanted to make sure. Keep me updated alongside engineering. Last thing we want is our shields to get bombarded by a bipolar jet from one of these guys, or saturated with x-rays. Either could do a real number on the ship's sensitive instruments, and then there goes all our hard work."

"The _Intervention_ is built sturdy, but the old bird can only take so much punishment," Neutrino agreed. "No ship is completely invulnerable."

She saluted. "Aye aye, sirs."

Nodding, the two mechs left the bridge, allowing Zodiac to return to her work.

* * *

 _One deca-cycle later...  
_

"You mean...you actually stumbled across a Nightdemon victim in Iacon?" Smokescreen demanded in worry.

"Yeah," The yellow and black mech sitting beside him in Macadam's shuddered in remembrance.

Bumblebee had been involved in the War for longer than Smokescreen, so death was no new concept to him. He was familiar with bodies, having seen some friends of his laid to rest during the War, some nearly blown to pieces from mortar fire and grenades. But to see the body one of Hammerstrike's Sharkticon pirates crumpled in a side alley in Iacon, neck cables split wide open, faceplates locked in a scream of horror, Energon pooled and splattered around him, was a little too much. He'd told Smokescreen about it, and the mech had invited him out to talk it out and simply to catch up with each other. He'd been very busy over the past week or so, unable to simply get together and chat.

"But I thought the Demon operates only in Kaon?"

"I thought so, too. But Kaon is Iacon's sister-city, and one or two bodies have been found here before now. Maybe She's got a hold here. Smoke, you know I can't talk about an active police investigation that I'm involved in. You know that. Protocol and all," Bumblebee reminded him.

"Right. Sorry. Just...Primus," Smokescreen shivered. "Not the best way to bring your night patrol shift to an end."

"So what about you? Ultra Magnus been keeping you busy and out of trouble?"

The blue and yellow mech snorted humorously: "Busy, slag yes. Out of trouble? Ha! You wish. It's actually because of a bit of trouble that I've been so busy."

Bumblebee looked at him curiously, a faint smile forming. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing actually. Just standing outside headquarters about two weeks ago, day-dreaming. Next thing I know there's this rush of wind and KA-POW! Something nails me in the back o' the helm – I seriously thought someone had konked me with the Forge or something – and knocks me out for a full breem. I come back online and – what's the first thing you think I saw?"

The other shrugged. He was grinning now he was happy to note.

"Data pads. Surrounded by 'em. Not even regular sized ones. I mean, these are little bitty things that looked like they belonged to a mini-con. I look around and eventually I spot what I can only assume is the owner. She's this teensy little midnight blue femme – Avioid Predacon, actually – only about seven feet tall I guess, and she's absolutely covered in little light-emitting diodes. Weirdest designed Pred I've ever seen so far, but..."

"But?" Bumblebee prompted.

Smokescreen began to look embarrassed. Then he replied in an embarrassed tone: "Okay, fine. I'll admit it. She was...kinda pretty," The last two words came out in a near mumble.

Bumblebee promptly started laughing. Leave it to Smokescreen to meet a girl in the most unorthodox manner imaginable: by getting hit by one.

"Anyways, she's still out of it, but she doesn't look hurt. So I started gathering up the data pads up for her as she's comin' back online. One of 'em landed within arm's reach of me and so I tucked that one away to give me a free hand. I went over to her and put the things down near her, minus the one I had stored, getting her attention as non-abruptly as I could. Her field had a couple of fear and nervousness glyphs, so I took that as meaning she was either confused and scared or just plain skittish. She whips around and stares at me with these big royal blue optics. Then down at the data pads. Then back up at me. Then back down. Then back at me."

" 'These are yours, right?' " I asked her.

"She nods real slowly. I tried to grab the last one from the nook in my doorwings, but even as I did that she – 'Bee, it was amazing. She grabs the data pads, shoves 'em into her book bag thing, transforms and then – gone. Just like that," he snapped his digits. "I didn't even get to really see her alt. mode she was gone that fast. Just grabbed her stuff and whoosh! Gone!"

"Wait...what about the data pad? Did she get that one, too?"

The Elite Guardmech grinned a bit sheepishly. He pulled out the data pad from a subspace storage compartment and laid it on the bar table for the former scout to see. Bumblebee took the tiny data pad in one hand and examined in with a keen optic as Smokescreen explained why he still had it and, in effect, why he had been so busy of late.

"I don't know the owner's name. All I've got to go on is her personal mark: "Zell." I paid a visit to some of the physicists, astrophysicists and all that to start out with, but they weren't much help. They've seen someone matching that description but they don't know her name. I paid Sanskrit a visit a little more recently and she was actually more help: one of her apprentices was the one to make the mark, and the mark hints that she may be connected to the stellar research branches. Also pointed out she might be a Sky Painter. 'parrently the background closely mimics their tribal markings."

Bumblebee let out an impressed whistle. "A Sky Painter scientist? Wow."

"I know, right?"

"So what's your next lead?"

"I've arranged to meet with someone involved with the Iacon Observatory next week when I got some more off time. Some Seeker guy named Coma. Apparently he's seen someone matching her description and he knows who can point me in the right direction. Again, doesn't know her name but he's seen her a lot. Regular at the Observatory. Guy I'm gonna meet goes by the name of Corvus Rho."

The scout stared at him. "Corvus Rho? The navigator of the CERF _Intervention_ , one of the most famous research vessels in the whole Fleet? Huh. Weird contact. I wonder what he's got to do with this."

"Dunno. But when the next deca-cycle rolls around, I'll find out."

* * *

 **Disclaimer time: "My Own Way" is owned by Disney. I just like it because it's, like, the ultimate introvert's song.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 4: Gotcha!

* _Note: "Klick" is just another term used by the military. It's the same as a kilometer. I couldn't find canon Cybertonian distance measurements, so I'm sticking with military units. Klik is a time measurement._

 _*Coma turns into a high-tech U-2 spy plane. Corvus turns into a more angular Bugatti Concert._

 _Chapter will be a bit longer than my usual fare. :)_

* * *

Zodiac was really beginning to enjoy working aboard the _Intervention_. With such a large ship and such a large crew manning it, there was never a dull moment. Such constant activity kept her on her pedes, kept her processor sharp. Tiring after a while, but the good kind of tiring – that kind of physically/mentally satisfied tired you got after finishing a project you were proud of, or winning a game of tag or chess. After being bound to Cybertron for as long as she had, ship-less and frankly rather bored, she hadn't realized how much she liked this kind of tired. Or how much she'd missed it. She'd been having trouble with her power down protocols before the mission thanks to her processor simply being too active whenever she wanted some down time. The _Intervention's_ constant activity (and sometimes childish antics) had pretty much fixed the issue.

She didn't see or interact with many of the other crew members, busy as they were in other areas of the ship, but Neutrino she saw frequently, the particle physicist captain popping in regularly to see how things were going. Sunflare she saw even more of. The radiation specialist was that odd mixture of social skills and pure awkwardness you tended to find among well-adjusted scientists. He had started out letting her have the bridge to herself, but at about the twentieth solar cycle mark she had grown used to him enough for him to stay in the bridge with her to take readings of his own without her forwarding them to him. She got to know him a little better after that, the mech occasionally sharing information with her to break the silence. She didn't mind, and even offered information of her own – about the Sky Painters, a few of her fears, her love of astronomy and the universe as whole.

Today, solar cycle twenty two of the mission, she even began talking about more sensitive issues, such as the discrimination Predacons like her tended to face. She was one of the lucky ones she said. She'd never had to deal with that scrap.

"Why's that?" Sunflare wondered. He was curious. He himself had a Predacon friend named Darter, and she suffered from that almost weekly.

"I dunno, really," she admitted thoughtfully, "I mean, Predacons are labeled as savage beasts I think mainly because we have animal frames, and Shockwave did clone some during the War to help the 'Cons. Maybe that's where the stereotype came from? I'm honestly not sure. But I think I got off easy because of my horrible people skills. Predacons as a rule are, like, super strong and have pretty big tempers if you tick 'em off. Some are a bit prideful and egotistical, too. I kinda sorta broke that mold I guess. I'm not proud. Plus, I think scientists are less likely to discriminate than non-scientific people because they have actual data backing them."

Sunflare nodded. "Makes sense. They say ignorance breeds prejudice. If more 'bots could see that Predacons are just as intelligent as the rest of us, maybe this could be put to an end. Lucky for you guys you got the White Hound helping represent you."

He heard the Avioid snort a bit derisively and turned in time to see her shake her helm.

"Yeah, we do. But representing only does so much. In an independently thinking society like ours, there's no such thing as a hive consensus of opinions among individuals. Sure, yeah, it can happen in small groups of maybe up to three or four people who all share the same thoughts, ideas, and opinions. The bigger the group is though the more chances there are of opinions to vary from one another – and for those opinions to clash. Trying to get every city-dweller on the same page as the Predacons, to empathize with them, is pretty much impossible. You've seen how well _that's_ working between Autobot and Decepticon."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't try. And am I asking for a hive consensus? No. I'm just asking for them to understand that what they think about you guys needs revision."

Zodiac shrugged. Admittedly she was a practical pessimist. If the odds didn't look good, she tended to pick the worst outcome. Buy hey, that was the beauty of it – if you expected something to fail but it didn't, you'd wind up pleasantly surprised. If it did fail there was no harm done.

The mech grinned. "There's something in that." Bit of an oddly dark way of looking at life, but Zodiac made a good point. Some 'bots just had that logically dark outlook on life and they rolled with it because they were smart enough to know that not everything went as planned.

She smiled and went back to her work.

* * *

IACON OBSERVATORY FOR INTERSTELLAR RESEARCH  
LOCATION: 88 KLICKS OUTSIDE IACON'S OUTER RING

 _One week later..._

Smokescreen had honestly never been at any of the observatories before. He knew they worked together with the Earth space agencies like NASA and ESA by exchanging findings but that was about all he knew. Other than glancing at the occasional media headline over some special finding, like gravity waves, he'd never held any interest in the field. He was clever in many ways, but he wasn't a scientist. Too many numbers involved.

Now though? Now was a little different.

He now followed an exceptionally tall black Seeker with cobalt wisp and speckle patterns on his body and wings down one of the many halls of the multiple buildings that made up the facility. He was fascinated by the many diagrams, maps, and work spaces they paced on their way, and his jaw dropped open a little ways at the colossal, high resolution, three-dimensional model of Cybertron and its host star in the main rotunda of Stellar Research, each orbiting and rotating in real time.

"Whoa..." Smokescreen stopped in his tracks to stare and reach out, touching the tip of a digit onto the hologram.

The wispy-speckled Seeker looked back with a huge grin. That reaction never got old. Whenever someone new came into the building they were always stunned at the detail, the sheer effort put into the model. To the scientists working in Stellar Research it was just something pretty to look at, the slow rotations of each body a calming sight. To newcomers it was the most awesome thing they'd ever seen. Lieutenant Smokescreen was no exception. Funny how he'd garnered an interest in the field, though. He was apparently after the elusive little bird-former whom he'd seen flitting around the observatory complex occasionally.

"Impressive, isn't it? Took us almost eleven stellar cycles to make that model. Most of it involved salvaging old Golden Age documents from the Hall (what was left of them after the sacking of Iacon, that is) until our satellite network was bumped back into working order about seven stellar cycles back, but some of it was done more recently. What you're seeing is a live feed."

"How do you get the live feed?" asked the Elite Guardsmech, blue optics round. He poked at the hologram again. So cool!

"We've got a whole fleet of satellites up there now. We also get readings from a base on Luna-2. If Cybertron so much as shifts a single plate by a quarter of a klick, those bad boys will pick it up, and the map gets updated real time. We also got ground based sensors to help us out. Old mech can't pull mesh over our optics," he laughed. "Same thing for the star, but those guys are a bit farther out. Can't get 'em too close or the poor things get washed in solar particles that mess with instrument sensitivity. Too far and the readings get fuzzy."

Smokescreen abandoned the hologram and followed Coma once more. They passed more space-nerds as they walked down more halls, Coma waving at a few of them and earning waves or smiles in return. He had always considered scientists cold, having known only two or three during the War: Ratchet, Knockout, and Shockwave. None of them were what you'd call "genuinely friendly" personalities. But these mechs and femmes they passed, even the Seeker Coma who had graciously offered his help after Sanskrit had led him into Stellar Research...they were all so nice. They were multiple fields of study working together with one goal in mind: discovery.

' _If only 'Bots and 'Cons could work together so well, huh Optimus? You ever think that's gonna happen?_ '

He got no answer. Of course. Though he suspected Optimus had been the hint giver, a ghost, a memory, couldn't talk back.

Primus, he missed him. Watching him die the first time had been painful to watch. But the second time had been agony for them all. And yet the funny thing was, he wasn't truly sad about that. The Prime had been ready and willing to die that time, and Primus had no doubt rewarded him a hundred fold for it. The big guy was no skin flint when it came to rewards. He knew Optimus could hear him from where he was though, which is why he tried to talk to him every chance he got, keep him updated of the general goings on or events he might missed when he wasn't watching over Cybertron and simply enjoying his vacation.

His thoughts were interrupted when, after passing into another rotunda in another building – this one possessing a model of planetary systems that changed every few kliks – a voice called out:

"Coma! Primus, there you are! What took you? You're never late!"

A bronze, black, and silver mech with many body features resembling an Earth crow but who obviously had a vehicle form flagged them down from across the rotunda. A Corvid; didn't see too many of those. Curiously enough, the new mech had a purple Decepticon crest on his lower arm. Instinctively Smokescreen flinched back. Every other time he'd dealt with that symbol he'd been attacked.

Coma laughed, "Relax. This is who I arranged for you to meet. Smokescreen, meet Corvus Rho. He's the usual navigator for the _CERF Intervention._ Clever scoundrel's on leave after he weaseled his way out of a mission in order to lengthen his time on solid ground."

Corvus Rho cackled light-sparkedly. He held out a hand in greeting to the blue and yellow mech Coma had brought him, "Nice to meet you! Heard a lot of good things about you."

Hesitantly, Smokescreen accepted the offered hand and shook it. This was the first truly nice 'Con he'd ever met if Knockout wasn't counted. It was a bit weird. But he liked having a stereotype he'd formed unconsciously shattered into a zillion pieces. Not all Decepticons were bad people. Corvus was solid proof of that. He was a bit sly and conniving like was stereotypically expected from 'Cons, but he wasn't malicious about it. He just sounded a little lazy in the work department. He knew some 'Bots who were the same way.

"I'll leave you two to your little problem," Coma said. "I gotta get back to my lab and help the newbies with their analysis of a chunk of that meteor we got recently. Have fun!"

The tall Seeker left them with a cheerful wave.

"Alright," said Corvus. "Tell me exactly what's going on here. Coma only gave me the abstract. I want the whole article. Word for word if you have to. Can't help if I don't know the whole story."

And so, word for word as he requested, Smokescreen told of everything that led up to this meeting – the crash, the search and his methods, even his chat with 'Bee at Macadam's last week. Corvus was grinning by the end of it, and he laughed when Smokescreen showed him the tiny data pad he'd been using as a lead to find the owner.

"So you're the one she crashed into," Corvus surmised with a sly smile, "Imagine that. Neutrino told me to find the data pad she lost when I shoulda been askin' 'round for a person. Who woulda thought, eh?"

"So you know the owner?" asked the Elite Guardsmech.

"Well, I wouldn't say 'know her.' I'm acquainted with her, yeah. I've seen her a couple times zippin' around runnin' errands for some 'bots; helpful little thing. Shy though. Not much of a people person like yours truly here. Heard her name a few times connected to this branch. You ask me, a name like hers oughta be in Stellar Research, not Planetary Sciences," he chuckled loudly.

"Who is she? I need to get this back to her."

Smokescreen was further confused (and somewhat exasperated) when Corvus chuckled loudly again, obviously finding something amusing about the situation.

"Her name's Zodiac," he explained with a smile.

"Zodiac..." the other mech repeated. Finally! Finally he had a name! After nearly an entire lunar cycle he finally had a name.

Corvus continued: "Yep. _Captain_ Zodiac of the _CERF Tieyeian Bolt._ Finest navigator ever sparked so go the rumors, and a real astronomy enthusiast. Exo-planets is her thing in this branch. But you ain't gonna find her here, pal. You don't keep tabs on the comings and goings of research ships, do you? That might've kept you from running all over Iacon lookin' for her."

"What's _that_ got to do with this?"

Corvus laughed: "'Cause little Zodiac ain't even on Cybertron, Smokescreen. She's in the Hydrax Nebula with Captain Neutrino and his crew. Has been for nearly the past lunar cycle. S'why you haven't been able to find her. She's not here. Zodiac's the one who replaced me as navigator aboard the _Intervention_."

Smokescreen did not resist the urge to smack a hand to his faceplates. He felt like such an idiot now. He hadn't even bothered to check out the space-faring aspect of the CERF. That was kind of a big deal with them, especially since he'd seen some of the vessels come in. But that the little femme was the captain of one such ship, and one of the most advanced, fastest scout ships in the Fleet no less, was so cool to him – a navigator, astronomer, and captain all rolled into one! Corvus only laughed more at the reaction.

"When's the ship get back?" he managed to ask.

"Another deca-cycle or so. Mission was for a lunar cycle so they could get compositional readings of the Hydrax since it collided with the Iridni on a pretty recent cosmological time scale – just fifty thousand or so stellar cycles before the War really got started. The Iridni has a lot of heavier elements in it while the Hydrax has more lighter elements in it. Wanted to see if such a setting might lead to more terrestrial planets being formed than gas giants or metal-heavy stars forming. Well, that's what Neutrino told me. But they needed a good navigator since it's a starburst nebula, so it's kinda crazy in there. Lots of young protostars in there givin' off lots of energy that can screw with a ship's systems. Get hit by an outburst from one of those puppies and there goes your ride home until the damage gets fixed."

"Couldn't they just 'bridge out?"

"Nah. See, with the crazy energy mayhem going on in there, spacebridging in or out is not a smart idea. The vortex could get ripped apart on the ship's end as all that energy washes over it. So you'd just be burning Energon on a portal that's gonna keep collapsing on you."

The Elite Guardsmech's optics widened. "So...if they get hit, they're stuck out there in the nebula with a bunch of super dangerous baby stars until another ship can get in and tow them out?"

"Yep. But don't worry. The _Intervention's_ a tough ship, she's got some talented engineers aboard, and she's got Zodiac and Neutrino at the helm. They'll make it back on time. You'll see. I'll say right now – she'd really like that d-pad back from ya. Captain 'trino said she panicked at the meeting when she noticed it was gone."

Smokescreen was silent for a moment. Then, thanking Corvus for the name and what ship she was on, he turned and headed back the way he had come. Corvus watched him, smiling, as he rounded a corner and disappeared. Astroseconds later his blue and yellow helm popped around the corner, the mech grinning and offering a final wave in his direction before vanishing for good.

Corvus didn't stop him or call him back. He would've offered despite his laziness to get the data pad to Zodiac for him when she returned and traded places with him, but he sensed he wanted to do it himself. He was the energetic type, unhappy if he wasn't doing something. Besides, that was one less task _he_ had to do. More free leave time for him. He did so love his spare time – and using it to charm the ladies. There was a 'Con femme at Macadam's he'd been after for some time now, a sly femme resembling an Earth fox, and slagged was she hot...

He grinned. Now he just had to hope his Captain or his SIC didn't thwack him upside the helm for lying to their faceplates to avoid a mission.

Again.

* * *

CERF INTERVENTION  
HYDRAX/IRIDNI NEBULA

 _Five solar cycles later..._

Zodiac was settled into her favorite nook between the ship's four interconnecting shielding matrices to review some of her findings. She felt the most secure there, and the engineers who dotted the deck were appreciative of her need for space. A few had been somewhat annoyed to see her there the first few times, thinking her field might interfere with the devices, but after a few more times they had seen there was no risk. So they let her. Plus, Sunflare held a certain amount of sway with the engineers, being buddy-buddy with their chief, so that helped. She sat huddled in the nook, listening to the thrumming purr of the engine. It was soothing to her, much preferable to the loud electromagnetic roars of the T Tauri stars outside. That was why her crew focused on true main sequence stars – not only because they were more likely to have planetary systems, but because T Tauri stars were incredibly, annoyingly _loud_. As a Predacon, her audials were more sensitive to any and all kinds of noise, whether actually sonic-based or electromagnetic. Though she wasn't as sensitive as some other builds, the little Avioid could only take so much noise.

The astronomer was just beginning to get comfortable when the one noise you never wanted to hear on a ship started going off: Alarms.

Zodiac sat bolt upright as the normal pale blue lighting of the ship was replaced with warning red. Around her, the shielding matrices flickered dangerously. Panic began to race within her.

" _All hands! Something big just hit our rear and port-side! Shields are at eighty percent and scanners are goin' haywire! What the Pit just hit us, people?!_ " Neutrino's voice boomed over the ship's loudspeakers.

She barely took notice of the engineers sprinting around frantically. Three of them stopped at the shielding matrices, but they didn't need to shoo her out in order to work on them. They yelped in surprise when she shot out of her nook in a faint clap of thunder and zipped down the halls, fright lending power to her velocity cascader and speed to her wings. Something was wrong. She didn't know what, and what worried her most was that no one else knew either. That was a bad sign. Surely...no, surely Star Seekers wouldn't be dumb enough to go into a starburst nebula to have a pot shot at the _Intervention_? Besides, what loot was there to gain in attacking a research vessel other than astronomical data or Energon? There were other ships out there, cargo or trading vessels, that were much easier to attack than a gigantic freighter-class ship and had much more valuable cargo to snatch.

Within astroseconds she had reached the bridge. To say it was in a state of chaos would be putting it too lightly. Neutrino, Sunflare, and a few specialists were desperately trying to get the scanners online. Right now the ship herself was blind, as were her occupants. With only the broad panoramic windshield and the portholes dotting the ship's frame, their vision was incredibly limited.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"Wish I knew!" Neutrino growled. He did not offer any clarification, concentrating as he was with the controls.

"Something hit us hard in the old bird's stern! Knocked our external sensors for a hard loop!" Sunflare explained quickly.

The alarms only seemed to grow louder. Zodiac was clueless as to what she could do to help other than grab the ship's steering controls and peel the whole crew out of here. From the look on Neutrino's faceplates, it looked like he was considering that more and more with every passing astrosecond.

A frantic voice cried over the loudspeakers: " _Captain! Double breach on engineering deck! Something just punched clear through the walls!_ "

"Do you have visual?" demanded Neutrino.

No voice replied to him directly, but in the background multiple voices could be heard shouting alongside blaster fire:

" _SHOOT!_ " The sounds of weapons fire drowned out some of the shouting; "... _going for the engine! SHOOT IT!"_

Neutrino's optics went round in horror. He swore hoarsely as he saw the previously stable readings from the infusion core fluctuate wildly before dipping dangerously into the red. Before he could voice his suspicion, his SIC beat him to it:

"...Spark eaters!" Sunflare cried in realization. He swiftly typed in a series of commands, examining the readings as they came. His marigold optics widened as he reported: "They're goin' after the infusion core in the engine room! And once they're done there they'll start feeding on the crew! Frack! How come they never showed up on our sensors before the preliminary strike?!"

The particle physicist knew Corvus had lied in order to get more time off. He did it pretty frequently – but he just hadn't thought for a second his "fear" might not be unfounded. He knew that spark eaters were no mere story, and all pre-War reports (and some more frequently) said they were drawn to the unique energy signature of Energon. Obviously some had been in the nebula feeding off the energy of the young stars, and with a big Cybertronian research ship filled with Cybertronian crew wandering into the Hydrax, the first ever to enter the starburst nebula since the two originals had collided, it was a veritable feast for them.

"Probably used the energy outflow of the Tauri stars to hide themselves," Neutrino guessed darkly.

He stood up, motioning for his SIC stiffly;

"'Flare, with me. Get every battle-trained body you can find on this heap of metal and get them down there to help us deal with 'em. You get the rest of the non-fighters outta there and stay with 'em. Zodiac, stay up here in the bridge. When I give the word, you're gonna help make sure the engine room is sealed from the inside via wireless override after we seal it from the outside. We'll use excess coolant in the _Intervention's_ liquid helium reserves to freeze those suckers to death. If it doesn't kill, at the least it'll freeze 'em solid for a while and give us time to book it out. Hit 'em with a concentrated burst it'll freeze 'em up in an instant. Space is relatively the same temperature; they ain't used to sudden fluxes. Soon as we've flung 'em outside, you get us the slag outta here, you got me?"

Zodiac hovered stiffly mid-air, watching the two mechs leave. The pressure she realized she was under hit her with the force of an oncoming train. Normally she would've passed out from her fright response, but instead her fight response kicked in. Her royal blue optics flashed as she zipped around the bridge, checking systems and stabilizing those that were unsteady, waiting for Neutrino's signal. From the way the readings from the engine were leveling out, it seemed the crew had succeeded in drawing them away. But that meant the crew themselves were now targets for the spark eaters.

"How many are there?" she demanded anxiously into address system's microphone.

" _Three_!" answered a mech engineer gruffly. " _And frag they're big! And ugly_!"

Speech devolved into shouts, cries, and blaster fire. Then, she heard the tell-tale banging and hissing of the bulkhead doors slamming shut. And then the sound of the spark eaters trying to force their way out: _BANG_! _BANG_! _BANG_!

" _ZODIAC NOW!_ " Neutrino bellowed.

In a flash the Avioid's talon struck the override command to seal the engine room from the inside. Quickly she then opened up the reserves of liquid helium, funneled them through the ship's ventilation ducts, and flooded the chamber with the super-chilled substance in a thick, heavy mist. In moments the banging of the spark eaters against the door subsided until all was silence. They waited a few moments to be sure.

" _Alright. Unlock the doors,_ _'Zee_ ," She obeyed Sunflare's order. " _Cogwheel, Plasma, Blueshift, Vela – get in there and shove 'em out the airlock. The instant they're done, turn this tub around and get us the Pit outta here._ "

"'Kay."

She waited. About half a breem went by in near total silence. Then, " _Book it, kid!_ " said the gruff engineer mech from earlier. " _Get us the frag outta this joint!_ "

The Avioid complied, spinning the mighty ship around as carefully but as quickly as she could. She warned them to hang onto something just before she put the engine into overdrive, the _Intervention_ roaring out of the starburst nebula in a mad haste. On the scanners, three targets blipped, growing fainter and fainter as the ship drew further and further away. Once clear of the thickest, active regions of the nebula and drawing near the fringes, the astronomer opened up a communication line to Iacon.

"Spacebridge Control, this is navigator Zodiac. We had a run in with some spark eaters in the nebula and need to get home for repairs. Over." She did her best to keep her voice level, but a quiver worked its way in.

[Anyone injured?] a concerned female voice demanded. [Do you need extra medics on site when you arrive?]

"Um...lemme check. One klik." She flipped on the loudspeaker once more. "Hey, guys? Anyone get hurt?"

" _Couple of dings, scrapes, and nicks, but otherwise we're_ _good. Lemme guess: operator's asking if we need an extra set of hands?_ " answered the ship's medic, Wailer.

She turned her attention back to the Hub operator on the line: "Uh, no. Not really. Minor injuries only. Wailer is tending to them now."

[Alright. Locking onto your coordinates now, Zodiac. Safe flight. And welcome back.]

The line went dead. Ahead of them in the star-studded blackness opened a titanic turquoise-green portal. She slowed the ship out of its hurried pace and gracefully eased it into the portal. All around them was swirling greens and pale blues for almost a full breem as the ship traveled thousands of light-years in mere moments. The _Intervention_ trembled slightly in the wormhole. Then the colors ended abruptly to be replaced with a familiar metallic landscape far below and golden-bronze sky of her home all around her. She slowed the massive vessel further, banking down and around towards the Iacon Docking Bays. Steadily, slowly, like a great bird coming in to land, it cruised into its designated docking bay. A jolt came as the clamps attached to the exterior and held it in place.

"Nice flying, femme."

She jumped. Neutrino was standing behind her with a proud smile on his lip-plates. He had a few dings on his chestplates and arms, but they had been welded.

Wordlessly, Zodiac managed a shy smile back. "Ah...thanks."

"Now, let's get my crew back on solid ground. And get you something for your efforts. I think you've earned something."

* * *

OFFICES OF THE CYBERTRONIAN EXPLORATION AND RESEARCH FLEET  
INNER-CITY REGION, IACON

 _The following solar cycle..._

"I think the CERF oughta consider getting some more Predacon pilots on the force. These guys are scary good at the flying business. You should've seen Zodiac! It was like she was flying a bigger, clunkier version of herself out there! Honestly, I think my ship's size almost _hindered_ her, but she still managed."

Neutrino and Sunflare sat in the main offices of the CERF having just finished a report on the mission. The heads of the organization sat around him at a table in a semi-circle. Some looked hesitant. Most, however, looked intrigued at the concept. Corona sat to one side, representing the Stellar Research branch. Neutrino himself represented Astrophysics. Sunflare was really just there as a witness and voucher.

"We've heard reports of Captain Zodiac's talents from her crew of beast-mimics. While we think the idea is sound, the notion will have to be passed through the Council since we are under their jurisdiction. And you know that they have an unfortunate bias when it comes to Predacons. They don't trust them. Politicians have always been fearful of them since they pretty much live outside their rule of law, under their own governing body. However, if we brought the suggestion to the Predacon Council, which meets in the next few lunar cycles, and had them back up the idea..."

The head of Cosmology, Freeze-Up, trailed off. He looked uncertain but in a positive way.

"Now that's an idea," admitted Corona. "While each tribe has an alpha – a leader – Predaking is in charge of maintaining higher order in the tribes, and his tribe lives just outside Iacon. His word carries a lot of weight, and he's had concepts passed before, which is why Predacons are a little better off than they a stellar cycle or five after the War ended, when the Council was still more or less trying to get itself together. If we worked with him to get this through the Council...I think both parties would benefit from this. We need good pilots – Predacons, the flying ones, are some of the best out there."

"Mm," grunted Freeze-Up. "If I remember right though, something similar to this was attempted about eight stellar cycles back by some other Predacons. Never got anywhere though...Not enough voices."

"Yeah, but this time it's not just a few individuals," Sunflare argued swiftly, eagerly. "They've got the CERF backing them on this lap. We're sure to get somewhere this time. Even if we just get the two Councils to debate this – not even decide anything, just talk it out – that'll be progress. Now, I know Predaking's got a bit of a fire against our Council, but maybe this'll help mend the rift he made. If he won't do it, at least the other alphas will be there to talk. I know they're a little more eager to treat with them than he is. I know the Sky Painter's alpha will speak since Zodiac's part of his tribe."

"Speaking of our little navigator – anyone got a bead on her location? Work? Home? We could call her in as a testifier of sorts when this comes around. She sounded to me like someone who wouldn't take the Council's scrap," suggested Neutrino. "She's a captain. Proven her value. They'll listen to her."

"I'm...not so sure she'd be thrilled about standing up to a bunch of 'bots twice her size, sir." Sunflare said. "But as for location...I think she's at the Observatory. Still going over her findings, I think. She checked in just this morning. Despite the sensors getting hit by the spark eaters, we still got a lot of good readings. Plus she's one of the best planetary nerds the CERF has, so she has to go over other findings from other ships as well. After a little over a lunar cycle in space, she's probably getting swamped."

"Ho boy..." Corona groaned. Whenever Zodiac got swamped she tended to be a little more volatile than she usually was. She was only one femme after all, could only do so much. And due to her social anxiety, she was hesitant to go up to someone and ask them for help. "I'd better call and make sure she's not working herself into her grave, then."

* * *

 **Author's Note: One more chapter before the little one-shots start. Then the cuteness really starts.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 5: Oh For Pete's Sake!

* * *

IACON OBSERVATORY FOR STELLAR RESEARCH  
PLANETARY SCIENCES WING, MAIN ROTUNDA  
LOCATION: 88 KLICKS OUTSIDE IACON'S OUTER RING

Zodiac was beginning to feel overwhelmed. And by "beginning" she really meant "already was."

Corona had dropped in to visit her two solar cycles ago while she'd been settling back into her work routine. She had wanted to make sure she had been coping with the workload dropped on her after her return. The little Avioid's pride had spoken for her then. She'd told her she was managing; she'd been honest with her though, saying the workload was a bit much for one femme to deal with. But she'd assured her she could handle it on her own. She'd been work-swamped before and managed it. She didn't particularly like having to depend on others, liked her independence. Not that she didn't like her co-workers or her tribe she'd said quickly. She liked both. The Sky Painters were the very embodiment of team work, had shown her the value of it and still did.

She just worked better on her own she said to her, could concentrate better.

The head of Stellar Research had looked up at her with some pretty obvious skepticism but some understanding, too. She'd left without further argument though. She did stop by a few times during the past solar cycle or so to check on her, remind her to restock on fuel. Lattice had mentioned one evening, and some of her friends knew that Zodiac could become completely oblivious to the world around her, even her own health, when she really got into something. Only way to break her out was startle her or nag her until she broke and snapped at you with an exasperated " _What?!_ " Luckily, judging by her attitude alone during Corona's visit today it didn't seem it would come to that. At least it hadn't thus far. She enjoyed her work even if the load was slightly too much for one individual to handle. But Zodiac was a fast worker. She could input formulas and solve equations faster than anyone in the CERF thanks to her speed talent, even if sometimes her hands or talons moved faster than her processor did. Zodiac always had some of the other planetary scientists go over her arithmetic before she submitted it. Sometimes small miscalculations were found, and Zodiac despised errors no matter how minuscule. Perfectionist would be the best word to describe her when working.

Corona gave one last wave to the Avioid up in the nooks of one of the side rotundas. She didn't expect a wave back as her optics appeared glued to the multiple data pads around her. So she was pleasantly surprised when a tiny hand waved back at her.

"You need any help –" she called up to her.

"Go find someone. I know, I know. Last resort. I'm doin' fine! Sheesh!" Zodiac responded.

She managed a laugh and a small smile.

"Alright. Take care. And be careful with those equations! Doesn't hurt to slow down! Take your time! We don't need 'em right away! And if I hear from any of the 'bots here that you've been skipping on refueling again I'm marching you straight to the clinic!"

A smile flashed down at Corona. "'Kay!" Her focus returned to the data pads.

Corona shook her helm and left. She hadn't yet brought up the issue of the Predacon Council. That could wait until she didn't have so much on her platter. With Zodiac concerned it was best to take single steps. If they jumped in she might bail on them and hide for the next lunar cycle. The little femme wasn't one to go getting involved in politics to start with. But maybe if they gave her enough of a reason, and once she was done with her work, she'd jump in. It was pretty well known she held politicians in deep contempt.

* * *

Smokescreen followed the wide road that led out into the expanse beyond Iacon, the same one he had taken to reach the Observatory before. He had seen the massive _Intervention_ come in to port a few days previously and knew then that the little femme Zodiac must be back. He was worried though: the ship had suffered damage to its port-side and judging by the chatter of the repair-mechs and femmes it had suffered engine damage as well. He had heard them speaking among themselves a knew the cause: spark-eaters. No crew had been harmed though, thank Primus. Ultra Magnus had confirmed that for him, as had Knockout. Only the ship had been wounded, but the damage was not severe. The crew had been lucky. He'd heard a few of the Elite Guard speak of Golden Age expeditions never coming back, the ship found later in their last known location or somewhere relatively close by drained of energy and the crew similarly drained within. He'd also read a few accounts of spark-eaters in the Hall, some during the War and others read more recently. Those were pretty ugly accounts usually. Survivors weren't exactly common. Those things were freaking _vicious_.

He kind of hoped he'd find Coma or Corvus Rho at the Observatory. Maybe the sly Corvid had more news or knew where he might find the tiny captain. From Rho's account and his own encounter she was incredibly skittish and a little flighty. As an Avioid that kinda made sense. A lot of Avioids were sparked wanderers or nomads, their flocks never staying in one place for long. Sky Painters were no exception. He'd got a bit more info on them through Predaking and found they were already over near Kalis. He hadn't tried to arrange contact with them just yet. Frankly he was a little intimidated about trying to contact what was basically a professional dance troupe. The Elite Guard lieutenant pulled up to the outside of the main rotunda of Stellar Research. He recognized dimly a few of the mechs and femmes inside as ones who had waved to Coma that first visit. One of them waved at him and he waved back. Another approached him outright: a well-built burnt orange grounder with marigold optics. He introduced himself as Sunflare, the radiation specialist for the _Intervention_.

"You lookin' for Zodiac?"

He blinked. "Yeah, actually. Is she here?"

"Sure is. She's in one of the side rotundas. That-a-way." The mech pointed. "Just be careful. She doesn't like strangers. And she's busy."

"I'm not exactly a stranger. I mean, I'm the one she slammed into about a lunar cycle back. Nearly took my helm off. Been trying to get this back to her ever since." He produced the tiny data pad and showed it to him.

Sunflare's marigold optics widened as a smile split his faceplates. "Oh Primus. That was _you_? I thought Corvus was kidding! Wow. Uh..." he laughed. "If you want I could take it to her. She knows me pretty well. I was one of the crew to work with her the most on the mission. Had some interesting talks with her."

Smokescreen shook his helm, saying he'd much rather give it to her himself. That way maybe she'd get that there were no hard feelings over the accident. But he thanked him for the offer regardless. Sunflare nodded understandingly. Once more he warned him to be careful. Smokescreen assured him he would be. He had no intention of scaring the Avioid a second time. He'd done that pretty successfully the _first_ time around, and he hadn't even been trying. Smiling, Sunflare left him to return to whatever it was radiation specialists did for a living. He headed off in the direction indicated. It wasn't the same way Coma had taken him the first time. The halls were emptier, noise levels were lower. When he entered the side rotunda there was only one or two 'bots in it diligently working on holo-boards, drawing out models and equations with styluses. He looked again to be sure but there was no sign of Zodiac. Weird. Sunflare said she was in here. So where was she? On an impulse he looked up. He dimly remembered Predaking mentioning that Avioids always liked to perch in places that gave them good views; seeing everything made them feel safe since it gave them more time to react. He looked round the dome of the rotunda...

And grinned at what he found nestled at the base of the dome, tucked between some support beams: a tiny midnight blue Avioid dotted with twinkling lights, her back against one beam and her legs hunched up close to her. Surrounding her were number of data pads magnetically stuck to the beams to permit more space. Two more were held in her tiny hands, royal blue optics fixated on them. Yep. That was the femme who'd crashed into him alright. So absorbed in her own thought she had no idea what was going on around her.

' _Talk about a worker though! She's doing all this by herself! I thought I had it tough; 'least Magnus delegates._ '

"Hey!" he called up to her, his voice echoing through the rotunda. The two stylus 'bots jerked their helms in his direction curiously. One had a somewhat annoyed expression. The other looked to be stunned for some reason.

She didn't look up. She switched one data pad for another, glanced between the two, then replaced that one with another.

"Uh, hello? I need to talk to you! I won't take up too much of your time! I can see you're super busy!"

For another few kliks she continued to remain oblivious to his echoing voice. He did notice she was busy typing in something on one of the pads. Then she grabbed another one that was stuck to the beams and seemed to compare them. Then she put it back. She gave a rather annoyed sounding sigh as she looked around for the 'bot who had disturbed her.

"Alright. Fine. But you better make this –"

She spotted him then. Her whole body tensed. Her optics widened in fright. Smokescreen smiled and waved at her, hoping this might put her at ease. Unfortunately it didn't seem to. She was staring at him with the same fright as the last time. Any astrosecond now she might zip off again.

"Yeah. Hi. Remember me? We met in the plaza where you gave me a nasty dent in the back of my helm?"

The Avioid, he noticed, was very closely watching him while at the same time reaching for the two data pads she laid aside. He tensed himself, ready to race after her this time.

"No, no! Wait! I just wanna talk! No, no, no..."

In a flash she grabbed the two data pads and shot past him. Smokescreen groaned then shouted as loud as he could, exasperated, in the hope she'd hear him this time around:

"OH FOR PETE'S SAKE! I'M HERE TO GIVE YOU YOUR DATA PAD BACK! NOT KILL YOU!"

He feared he'd lost her again. Then, he heard the tell-tale whoosh of a speed-gifted, saw a flash of midnight blue shoot back in and perch atop the telescope in the center of the chamber. Zodiac stood perched there in bipedal form, still clutching the two data pads. But her fear was suddenly less pronounced. Now, curiosity glittered in them as she peered down at him. The wariness was still there though. She was still nervous.

"D-Did you say data pad?" she asked cautiously.

Smokescreen heaved a sigh of relief and pulled the tiny device out of storage on his hip. He held it up to her. She transformed, zipped down, and snatched it from him with her talons. Quickly she examined it, and quickly she input the security code. Her optics lit up in happy relief and even joy. The hawk let out a keen, flew over to a nearby table and landed, reverting back to bipedal form. She was smiling he noted. That smile made it all worth it. She really was cute when she wasn't terrified to death of somebody.

"You...you kept it this whole time?!" she demanded.

"Uh, yeah? Because I'm not a jerk?"

"B-But I thought that after...Primus, I'm _so_ sorry about that. I-I didn't mean to! I was just late for a meeting and I was rushing and you didn't react when I screamed at you and I couldn't slow down fast enough and –" she was rambling by then.

"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down! Geez. I'm not _mad_ at you. Accidents happen," he laughed then: "Do you have any idea the amount of trouble I went to get this back to you? Any idea how hard you are to find? I hope it was worth it. I never found out what was on the thing. You put some kinda of home-made encryption on it."

She smiled again, looking a tad guilty, "Completely worth it! These are my research and findings on exo-planet formation, individual and system evolution, and the prevalence and type of rogue planets! It seems a lot of it depends on the type of star in the system and whether or not there is more than one gas or ice giant in the system causing gravitational disruption. Planetary scientists like myself also make a habit of investigating not only exo-planets we discover but ones the humans find as well. Despite how good some of their satellites are they still haven't _quite_ puzzled out inter-stellar travel yet."

The most Smokescreen could do was stare blankly at her. It was like she was suddenly talking another language. But he was pleased to see her smile.

"I study planets, how they and the system form and change over time, and investigate exo-planets and rogue planets. Nothin' too complicated. Fun actually. Also means I get to go out into the galaxy and explore. Y'know, kinda like that Earth game _Elite: Dangerous_?"

"Oh! Okay." She knew about Earth video games? He never would've pegged her as being game savvy. Then again, someone as introverted as Zodiac was had to have some kinda hobby, and some games were pretty good when it came to passing the time. But that really wasn't the focus here. The focus here was showing her no hard feelings and maybe, just maybe, befriending her.

"Um, I guess I should introduce myself now: I'm Smokescreen," He held out a hand. Zodiac shied away, eyeing the limb warily. In comparison to her tiny hands she might as well have been shaking hands with a giant. He withdrew the limb. "Er, nice to meet you, captain. So, uh, now that you've got your research back in hand I guess I'll be going now..."

Smokescreen made to leave when Zodiac's voice met him:

"Wait."

He paused obediently. He turned back to face her.

"Thank you, Smokescreen. I don't have much to offer as a reward in compensation for all the trouble you went through to get this to me..."

"I'm not askin' for a reward. I'm just happy you got it back. But, uh – don't take this the wrong way or anything – maybe we could swap comm. frequencies? Y'know in case you run into some kinda trouble and need a hand or something. Maybe I could teach you some moves in case some Council crony starts givin' you trouble 'cause you're a Pred. I know they've had a lot of issues."

Once more the wariness flashed in her royal blue optics. He understood Predacons were mistrustful of city-dwellers due to the Council and its skewed politics concerning them, but this seemed to be a lot more than just general caution or mistrust or even introversion. Her anxiety and unwillingness to trust a kind stranger even slightly made it seem like she was mildly paranoid. He knew 'bots with unique or rare talents often came under scrutiny from the Council, who sought to use them seven times out of ten to further their own agenda. Speed-gifteds in particular made a point of remaining politically neutral. If she associated with an Autobot, things could get even more complicated for her.

And, speaking of which, now that he had a good look at her...there was no crest on her anywhere.

Was that why she was so mistrustful – the politics and the underlying introversion? Was she afraid others might _use_ her?

But then she smiled. "Sure. Here."

She pinged him.

He thanked her and pinged her back.

"Ah, see you? I guess? I dunno? Maybe? Sort of? Yes? No? I have no idea? You're busy...?"

She laughed then. "I'm not super busy. They don't need these tomorrow or anything. I just like being early. And...thanks. Really. I-I'm sorry you went to all that trouble. If you'd just handed it to someone – anyone, really – at either one of the observatories or the docks it would've found its way back to me eventually. Someone was bound to recognize it..."

"Nah. It's fine. Honestly," he laughed himself. "Gave me something else to do not related to the Guard. And introduced me to some people I never thought I'd ever have a reason to meet. You space nuts are a lot nicer than I was expecting. Seriously though. You are _crazy_ hard to find. You _do_ know that, right?"

Zodiac massaged her neck cables awkwardly and admitted that she was kinda aware of that. Her circle of friends consisted of 'bots she knew with one hundred percent certainty she could trust. And she didn't extend that trust lightly or easily. Politics had a role in that but she was just...not good around others. Scared. Intimidated. Uncomfortable. Call it what he would. Even as he watched she suddenly became shyer, her wings folding against her sides stiffly. Her hands started wringing unconsciously.

"Maybe I could help you out there, too? I'm mean, I'm pretty good around others."

"I'm not as proud as other Preds. I'd appreciate some pointers. I'll be sure to ask if I need it. But, uh, if you don't mind –" she motioned to the other data pads still stuck on the beams with one hand while holding the other two up with the other. "I gotta get back to work. This is kinda my job? I don't get paid for slouching. Or talking with people I accidentally collide with."

He caught onto the dismissal right away, noting it was a bit sudden and seemed to go along with her statement of not being good around others. Her people skills were definitely in need of improvement. "Right. Sorry. Uh. Bye. I'll talk with you later, I guess."

She nodded. As he turned to leave he heard her fly up back to her nook in the beams. He glanced back just before exiting to see her right back at work, once more oblivious to the world around her. Smokescreen turned his focus back to the hall ahead of him. But he swore afterwards it felt like someone who wasn't Zodiac was watching him – watching him with approval and gratitude. He looked around the halls and the main rotunda on his way out, hoping to see a familiar face...

He saw nothing.

Sighing, he went on his way. He had a groundbridge waiting for him back to the city and a job of his own to do. And honest as the little Avioid was, he had sensed some typical Predacon stubbornness in her along with the teeniest hint of pride. He didn't exactly know when she would call him, and he didn't want to annoy her.

* * *

 **Author's Note: And here's the second mini-series off with a bang. The little one-shot's following this will be a lot shorter than the Tcsovan ones. Since Zodiac's not one for social interaction even among close friends, a good number of these will be wireless talks between them at random intervals. At least to start out. Once she gets more comfortable with him the personal interacts will start to crop up a lot more. (Don't worry. I'll touch on the instance Smoke mentioned in the beginning of NotB about him being in Charity's clinic. There's a good reason for that...)**

 **But yeah. Zodiac's work habit is a lot like mine. She bites off more than she can chew sometimes but a lot of the times is too stubborn to ask for help, thinking she can handle it on her own. 'Zee also likes to, if she can, get work done early. Since she's busy ordinarily she likes her downtime.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 6: Charging Over the Edge

IACON OBSERVATORY FOR STELLAR RESEARCH  
88 KLICKS OUTSIDE IACON'S OUTER RING  
BLUE LASER CAFE  
TIME: 1200 HOURS

* * *

"You really think she'd lend a voice?"

Corona, Sunflare, and Neutrino sat around a table at a small but quaint outdoor patio 'round the back of the Iacon Observatory. While intended for guests to enjoy the cityscape off in the distance and the shimmering tapestry of starlight at night, it was often used as a meeting place by those who worked there. The place was out of obvious sight but it was also conspicuous enough that it was unlikely to arouse curiosity from said visitors. Meetings were not uncommon among certain groups of co-workers or friends but the astronomers on site were mostly conscientious and would more often than not coordinate so as not to interrupt a group meeting there.

The question, Neutrino's, lingered in silence for a moment as he passed his gaze between his two companions. They'd had this discussion more than once over private comms but physical meetings were a little rarer due to busy schedules. Out of anyone, Corona would be the most qualified to answer a question regarding Zodiac. Corona acted much like an adoptive Guardian or older sister to the little Avioid. Lacking her tribal members' support in the city, a handful of astronomers had taken up the empty roles when she'd first arrived to help the skittish femme adjust, however the one she trusted the most to watch out for her was Corona herself. He himself trusted the Head of Stellar Research, and Sunflare worked under her and thus knew her rather well. Sunflare was also on somewhat closer terms with Zodiac thanks to her sojourn into the Hydrax with Neutrino and his crew. Neutrino liked to think he knew her pretty well, but he wasn't an expert on Zodiac. Out of the three of them, Cori knew her the best.

"'Trino, she fumes against the Council as much as the next Predacon," said Corona, "but her fear of crowds might make this sort of thing far more difficult – near impossible even. She almost never gives her reports in person; she sends them wirelessly with her recorded voice as an add-on. She's _terrified_ of getting up in front of others. Even if she really, really wanted a chance to rail against the Council there's a good chance she'd pass it up because her mind sees that as a _performance._ That's why she left the Sky Painters, remember. She's simply not a performer. The mere _thought_ of performing or getting up in front of other 'bots sends her down the road to a full-blown panic attack. And it's difficult to get her out of that mind-set once it's started up."

Neutrino gave a weary sigh. Most Preds didn't give two slags what the Council thought of them and just ignored them altogether, sticking to their own ruling body, which was why reforms on the side of the High Council were so slow in the making – the Predacons didn't like cooperating with them because they almost always got the short end of the pipe. And thus the trench was dug ever deeper.

Corona added after a moment of thought, "Don't get me wrong here. She's ranted to me about the stupidity of the Council on more than one occasion and did just fine. But that was with me – one person whom she knows well and isn't afraid to rant to. So long as it's a small gathering she might just manage. But considering all members of the Council and Predacus have to be in attendance at a meeting like the one we're planning, that's going to be impossible."

"It's a Catch-22 scenario we have here," noted Sunflare grimly. "Zodiac needs a small group to be able to simply function enough to speak up. But a small group isn't possible due to standing legal formalities. And that's not even to mention the reporters that are bound to show up, too."

"Exactly," Corona agreed with a sharp nod. "Unless we can somehow make an exception with the Council in some way – either reducing the number or convincing them to use a pre-recorded argument, like the kind of coherent ranting she uses around me – there's just no way in the Pit she's going to have the courage to stand up and speak against them no matter how much she wants to."

All three fell silent as they mulled over the conundrum. Zodiac needed to speak in order to convince the Council to permit Predacons to be star-ship pilots, as she was not only a pilot but a captain, but unless they found a way for the skittish Avioid to speak without locking up from sheer terror their odds of success were dwindling into the single digits. If they couldn't convince her to speak despite the crowd, Predacons would continue to be barred from many formal occupations in the cities, and having Predacons, many of whom were talented fliers, as pilots, their organization would benefit greatly while also helping Predacons as a whole better integrate into "civilized" society. Most of the Council was of the opinion that Predacons did not belong in the cities due to be being dangerous. Certain groups, like the CERF, saw them as benefits. But the one femme most qualified to speak on their behalf was _terrified_ of speaking to the Council simply because of her fear of people and performing.

Sunflare started as a thought struck him.

"Wait. Guys," he started excitedly. "What if Zodiac didn't have to speak _alone_? That's not a requirement, is it?"

Neutrino and Corona fastened on him in an instant.

"You suggesting we speak with her, 'Flare?" wondered the particle physicist curiously.

"Yeah! I'm thinkin' if she has a support system backing her – like, actually up there next to her, not just on the sidelines – and adding to her own voice, she won't be so nervous. I remember some lyrics from an old Earth song Darter knows: ' _Voices joined will never tire._ ' I don't think that'll be a problem if we arrange it through Councilor Elita-One and the Predacus Councilor Ser-Ket. Each represents the femmes in their own societies. Ser-Ket's kinda temperamental and not one for trusting city-dwellers, so we might have some problems with her. Elita-One in particular I've got higher hopes for. In every instance she's been sitting in on either a criminal case or a political meeting, she's never allowed herself to jump to conclusions."

Neutrino eyed the younger mech as he processed the notion. They would need to meet with the Predacus to arrange this whole concept anyway, and that was in another lunar cycle or so, so the kid's idea was a pretty good one in theory. They just had to hope Predaking and Ser-Ket would be reasonable about meeting with the High Council. Meetings between the two governing bodies rarely if ever went smoothly, and that was mainly due to the bigoted Star Saber. In his own opinion that mech oughta be banned from such meetings, but he was a clever politician and always somehow managed to weasel his way out with honeyed words – and probably bribes, too. He was never one personally to trust politicians but Star Saber he trusted the least. Slagged scraplet seemed to _want_ a war with the Predacons. Mech wasn't right in the helm in his opinion.

"So you suggest us three back her up?" Corona asked her burnt-orange companion.

"Us, maybe her apartment buddy, maybe a Sky Painter or two," Sunflare agreed. "And maybe we could rope in Lieutenant Smokescreen as well? He's a Predacon sympathizer. Open enough about it that the Council sometimes gives him trouble, I think. But I think he'd enjoy the chance to burn the Council over their anti-Predacon policies. I know _I'd_ jump at that sorta chance. It's not ethical."

"Council needs a good reality smack if ya ask me," Neutrino grumbled in a wry, amused manner, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chestplates. "Problem is the Predacons'd be all too happy to provide that smack on our behalf – and probably pound them into the ground for good measure. And then there goes what little progress has been made over the centuries down the nearest drain pipe. We gotta be careful about this, you two. No screw-ups allowed."

Sunflare nodded, "Yeah. I know. Trust me, I know. They got a lot of excess oil to burn, a whole vat of the stuff, really, and if the High Council decides to be stubborn about this simple, frankly _practical_ request they might just ignite that oil vat the Predacons've got. They at least should _attempt_ to be civil about this."

' _But oil likes to keep burning, especially if you just keep adding to the source..._ ' he thought privately, remembering Darter's words from an old conversation with her. He could see her grim expression even now. Maybe he could get her to speak up at this, too. She didn't care about crowds. She also wasn't as temperamental as some Preds, though she could get very heatedly vocal when roused. Here, that might be a good thing.

That was what the High Council had a bad tendency to do: add more fuel to the powder keg. And if they didn't learn to cooperate it'd implode in their faces.

* * *

ELITE GUARD COMMAND CENTER, IACON  
SIC OFFICE

A lone blue and yellow mech sat at a rather untidy desk, idly tapping a stylus on the metal while staring at the wall across from him where a holo-image showed an artistically rendered image of the Manganese Mountains far to the west of the city. It was no so much interesting as it was calming. The mech's expression was that of one nearly lost in his own thoughts.

The report he was writing up consisted a troubling problem that was progressively getting worse. Over the past few decades there had been a slow but noticeable increase in anti-Predacon violence in the cities. Iacon was mostly spared but she was by no means innocent. In Polyhex, Kaon, and the Tagan Heights especially there had been full-blown fights erupting between beasts and non-beasts. A few fights had resulted in multiple hospitalizations on both sides. The Elite Guard did what they could to keep the peace, but as time went on hostilities only seemed to be rising. The instigators of such mech-on-mech violence had even graduated to attacking pseudo-beasts in some cases, which is what he was writing about now. Or, well, had been. He was stuck on wording the report properly. Despite him being on the side of the Predacons he needed to remain unbiased in his official reports. Magnus had made that pretty clear: he could make the unofficial ones to him as biased as he wanted to, but the official ones that went to the Council he had to keep neutral.

* _Smokescreen. I need you in my office. Now. We have a budding problem on our hands._ *

He jolted out of his mind-fog with a jump. His grip on his stylus slacked long enough for him to lose it. The device slipped from his his hand, rolled across the desk as he tried to grab it. In the end, it still fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. He sighed. Today was gonna be one of _those_ solar cycles, wasn't it? Where even the little things went wrong despite his efforts. Oh, yeah. He was well versed on _those_ kinda solar cycles. They hadn't been happening lately so now karma was paying him a nice little visit.

"I'm coming, sir. One klik."

The mech rose as he put the semi-filled datapad on the desk. Smokescreen forewent the stylus in favor of the door. When Magnus mentioned a "problem" and asked for you by name it was always a good idea to report in to him. Lucky for him that his office was just down the hall, too. Besides, he had a sinking feeling he knew that the "problem" was. If it didn't involve Predacons he'd be very surprised. There had been that unidentifiable _something_ in his voice that warned of politics.

Smokescreen really, _really_ hated politics. Hated it. Just hated it. He'd never understand how someone could just calmly label another living, thinking being as "not a person." Because that basically summed up the issue with the Predacons.

He made his way down the hall towards Magnus's office. The doors hissed open to permit him. The mech was a little surprised to see Chromia in front of Ultra Magnus's desk, hands on its surface, her frame hunched over a bit. She was deep in conversation with him. Magnus, on noting his arrival, told Chromia to halt her report and held a hand up for silence. She fell silent accordingly, turning to face Smokescreen with taunt, none-too-pleased expression. He did note curiously her hands went from the desk to the side of her helm. That usually meant comm. chatter. She stepped off to one side and her gaze became a touch unfocused. She was communicating with someone about something he realized. Who though?

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Ultra Magnus focused on him and began with a simple geographic question: "You know of the Sonic Canyons?"

The younger mech blinked at the unexpected question. "Pretty well. Large canyon system in the southern hemisphere that's almost constantly raining debris because of loud echoes from deep underground. I dunno what idiots decided it was a good idea to build a city there, but it's apparently pretty densely populated. Nomadic Predacon tribes pass through the area sometimes and I think (I may be wrong on this) that Sky Painters train in the northern section. They use it for agility training since it's not so loud there. Heard that one from Corvus Rho. Um...why? What about the place? Did something happen? Quake hit the canyons and we need to help evacuate people or something?"

"Nothing has happened," Ultra Magnus assured grimly. He then added one word that turned that possibly hopeful statement into a grim one, "Yet."

' _Well, we're off to a great start here, aren't we?_ ' Smokescreen thought sarcastically. Aloud he asked again: "What's the problem?"

Ultra Magnus explained:

"Chromia received word from an Elite Guard station in the Canyons that there is a stand off occurring between about a dozen or so mechs and femmes of differing factions and a nomadic tribe of Equinines known as the Raging Chargers. We have yet to get the full story from the soldiers stationed there as the problem is still developing, but it seems hostilities are rising by the breem. No shots have been fired as of yet – only verbal ones. That could change in an instant if someone on either side says the wrong thing or decides to open fire. Just because the Chargers' beast models are based off terrestrial equines doesn't mean they aren't afraid to fight back. They can and they most certainly will. It doesn't help that their leader is not one to take affronts lightly and is aggressively protective. Anger Flame-Horn and you set the entire herd off. The Elite Guard in the Canyons needs help dispelling the stand off before it develops into a skirmish. I have allotted that task to you and Chromia. I have also arranged for Jazz to join you. If dissolving the problem fails, Jazz can help incapacitate the Chargers."

Smokescreen nodded. He personally didn't like it, singling out the Preds when they might not be the ones at fault. But unfortunately Preds were strong and temperamental, capable of causing severe injury to a non-beast when provoked. And due to their almost universal pride it was slagged easy to provoke them even if you weren't meaning to. Even the shy Zodiac had shown a faint hint of that pride when he'd found her at the Observatory, unwilling to delegate a fraction of her work to colleagues and instead doing it all herself. Admirable and impressive though that was, that also wasn't exactly the most efficient method – and she'd struck him as being a lover of efficiency with her statement of enjoying being early in submitting her work.

Actually, come to think of it, he hadn't checked in with her since then. He'd been too busy. He noted that down as something to do later. Then he shook his helm mentally and got back to the topic at hand.

"When do we leave?"

"I would highly advise you head to the groundbridge bay right away. Time is of the essence. Jazz will meet you in the Canyons. He's already en route."

Chromia broke in then: "We need to go. Now. Siren says Flame-Horn's gettin' real ornery. Won't be long till the fires start burning."

"Then let's get going. Come on."

The blue and yellow mech darted out of the room, Chromia hot on his heel struts.

* * *

SONIC CANYONS  
CYBERTRON'S SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE  
EXACT COORDINATES: 38°50'23.1"S 6°36'03.1"W

The Sonic Canyons were true to their name. Smokescreen and Chromia stepped out of the faint, whirling roar of the groundbridge and their audials were instantly assaulted by a loud cacophony welling from the massive rend in the landscape a half a klik ahead of them. They did not realize until after the portal had shut that it actually masked some of the noise. When it did shut, the noise only got louder. They could hear the loud clanging of falling debris and the steady chugging of the planet's inner working amplified to incredible levels.

"How the Chargers aren't on the ground whimpering in pain I can't imagine," Chromia grumbled, toning down the sensitivity of her audials, "Even if a Pred's lowest hearing setting is active they'd still get a migraine. _I'm_ already getting a processor ache, and we aren't even at the site yet."

Smokescreen agreed completely, "Ditto,"

He didn't know a lot about the Chargers personally (nomadic tribes were tough enough to get info on) but he had heard tell that certain Pred tribes lived around the Canyons periodically, so maybe they'd developed a tolerance for the sound or were outfitted with tech to lessen the Canyon's stupidly loud racket. Or maybe the Chargers were mad enough that they could just ignore it. That, too.

"Come on. We need to rendezvous with Jazz. He's waiting for us with Siren near Axsixtic Edge. That's where the standoff's happening according to Siren. Sooner we get this sorted out the better. I'd rather not have a pounding helm for the next deca-cycle."

Transforming, Chromia raced off towards the Edge. Smokescreen followed suit but soon shot ahead of her. He wanted to get there before her to keep tensions from rising further, because she wasn't exactly the most tactful femme around when it came to delicate situations like this one. Tensions were already high enough according to her report, so the last thing they needed was to send them through the roof. He liked to think he had a little more experience with Preds thanks to association with Zodiac and some of the Predacus (and Miko; Primus he missed Miko). Rule One with Predacons: show them respect and they would return the respect. That was the problem, since most of the populace of Cybertron viewed them in a low light, meaning respect wasn't easy to come by.

The drive was a short one, and the sight they found was not encouraging. On one side of the Edge, which possessed a trail that led down to the city below, a group of the Canyon's inhabitants were squaring off, blades and firearms at the ready. Jazz and another femme, Siren, were standing between the two to keep the peace. The opposing team was far more spectacular in appearance. "Equinine" just didn't do the Chargers justice. Though they bore the frames of Earth horses and rather drab coloration – bronzes, silvers, blacks, coppers, and even some with marbled patterns – some possessed magnificent wings, and each and every one of them had simmering fires somewhere on their bodies – wings, manes, tails, even around their hooves, made even more spectacular via their tribal crests of flames. One powerfully built Charger colored pure white bore a lance-like horn on his forehelm that flickered with a strong orange blaze. He could only assume this was the Chargers' alpha: Flame-Horn.

And he did _not_ look in a diplomatic mood despite Jazz's and Siren's efforts.

"Put the weapons down, people!" Smokescreen shouted over the general cacophony of the Canyons. "Put 'em down and tell me what the scrap is going on here! We can settle this without a firefight!"

Flame-Horn snorted a cloud of embers and smoke and spoke, "These barbarians refuse to let us enter the city to retrieve basic medical supplies along with one of our own! They imprisoned him and refuse to return him!"

"Scraplet was caught trespassing!" shouted back one of the city-dwellers. "Just 'cause you all are nomads don't mean ya'll can go anywhere you like!"

"And who the Pit are you to go dictating _your_ laws to us, huh? You lock us out of your cities like wild animals, _treat_ us like wild animals, and then expect us to follow your rules?! Just like that?!" a pitch black and burnt orange femme Charger with wings snapped angrily, stamping her hooves.

Smokescreen could feel tensions rising further. Jazz and Siren tried again to get the two sides to calm down and simply talk this over, but it was pretty obvious that option was dwindling by the astrosecond. These Equinines wanted their pal back and they were not taking "No" for an answer. On the other hand, the city-dwellers were adhering to common law but were being a bit unnecessarily stubborn about handing the trespassing beast-former back. Sentences for trespassing were pretty minor, either meaning two or three solar cycles in a cell or a fine. None of the Chargers were willing to wait that long...and he kind of understood why. They lived mainly by the rule of the Predacus, _not_ the Council. To be under their rule out of the blue was enough to make any beast irritable.

"People! People, just calm down!" Jazz implored.

"Enough parlay!" Flame-Horn snorted. "Either you let us in to trade for the supplies we desperately need and relinquish Fireflight to be tried by our laws..."

With a dangerous flourish the Chargers' alpha reared back, snorted more ember-laced smoke, and unleashed a frightening sound. His front hooves kicked as his horn blazed brightly. They met ground again with a thundering impact.

"Or we burn our way in!" he finished.

The herd whinnied, snorted, and stamped agreement. Some mirrored the threatening rear-back.

Jazz shared a desperate glance with Siren, Chromia, and Smokescreen. He wasn't about to say the universal jinx of "This couldn't get any worse," but really this would only get worse. Tensions weren't dispelling. Instead, they were escalating. A firefight wasn't a possibility but a probability at this rate. Something struck the former War saboteur as a bit unusual though. He remembered Flame-Horn's words: they didn't just _need_ the medical supplies – they needed them _badly. Was one of their number injured?_ Was that why the Chargers were so stand-offish right now, aside from Fireflight's imprisonment? They were stand-offish normally but this was more so than he'd ever seen or heard them. _Were they pressed for time?_ If the city's inhabitants wouldn't let them in during the length of Fireflight's stay, and if one of their number was in desperate need of medical supplies that the city could provide...

If true, this had just gotten a lot more complicated. There were only a handful of city clinics that tended to Predacons, and the Canyons was absent from that list. There was one in Iacon, but Preds tended to be leery of groundbridges.

"Well?" Flame-Horn demanded testily. "Will you relinquish our scout? Or must we burn our way into the Canyons?"

The 'bot in charge of the city-dwellers replied back coldly: "He's in our city so he sticks to our rules. Kid stays the standard sentence for trespassing. We can't trust that you won't try to bust him out if we let you lot in. Or let him go scot free if _you_ try him."

Smokescreen nearly cursed aloud. His one hand hovered over the Phase Shifter on the other. That was the one thing you _didn't_ say to a bunch of pissed off, protective Predacons. The fracking idiot had almost certainly just ignited the massive chain of dynamite standing across from them.

And ignite it did.

Outraged, Flame-Horn snorted and charged the opposition. The herd followed his lead as the Canyon dwellers opened fire or charged them with weapons. Jazz and Siren rolled out of the way to avoid being trampled under metal hooves and shot, each readying their hyper-sonic emitters. Smokescreen, still in between the two sides, did not budge, the Phase Shifter shimmering with its pale turquoise glow. Gun fire phased through him along with two Chargers who let out startled whinnies as they raced towards the Edge full gallop. They skidded and raced back around towards the still-firing civilians. The Elite Guardsmech felt one blast phase through his wrist and felt an ensuing zap of discharge. The next shot did not pass through him – it struck him.

' _What the heck?! I thought the Shifter was immune!_ '

"Smoke, get outta there!" Jazz hollered. Without the Shifter the kid might as well be a piece of aluminum foil against a beast. Those hooves could put a nasty dent in him – enough to damage internal mechanisms. A hit by a beast could wind a mech up in a clinic for upwards of a whole lunar cycle, possibly more.

Nearly blindly the blue and yellow mech darted out of the line of fire, heading for the Edge where he hoped the overload of sound might keep the angry beasts at bay. Behind and below him the Canyons yawned into the depths. However, one Charger, a large bronze one, saw him break off and galloped over to him bravely, snorting. Smokescreen whipped out his sidearm and aimed for the Charger's legs but the nimble Equinine deftly avoided each shot, zigzagging wildly. It opened its maw and spat a stream of fire at his hand. The ensuing burning sensation was strong enough to force to him let go of the weapon instinctively. Then, rearing back, it struck out with its front hooves violently, slamming them into chassis with enough force to send him staggering backwards towards the tip of the Edge. Pain erupted around the impact site. He teetered there, desperately trying to keep himself from tumbling into the Canyons. The Equinine charged once more, audials flat to block out most of the din.

Flame-Horn saw this predicament and forewent his own attack. He reared back and bellowed, "TRAILBLAZER! DON'T!"

Too late did that warning come. Trailblazer rammed himself into the Elite Guardsmech with the force of an oncoming train. He was sent over the edge with a startled yelping cry which was soon lost to the Canyon's own loud wail.

"SMOKESCREEN!" Chromia cried.

Flame-Horn bucked, calling out for a flier to find the city-dweller. The black femme who had so readily snapped beforehand about how bad city-dwellers were whinnied that she would. Racing to the edge she leapt off, wings unfurling like great banners. And down she dove into the Canyons. This act of cooperation so close on the attack stunned some of the civilian opposition into a ceasefire. Beasts alike forewent their fire when their alpha called an end to hostilities for the time being. A quick allowance was agreed to: they would be let into the Canyons to help search for the unfortunate Smokescreen and get their necessary medical supplies, though they would not release Fireflight still. The Chargers seemed willing at least to heed that rule so long as they were let in to complete the scout's task.

But if Smokescreen was found dead then Trailblazer would face the full fury of the law – of _both_ governing bodies.

* * *

 _A few hours later..._

Pain. That was never a good thing to wake up to. Damn did he hurt like hell.

His optics flickered online only to dim back. Wherever he was it was bright – like, industrial bright. He was definitely in a building. An experimental little movement of his body made him instantly regret doing so. He winced, nearly letting out a cry of pain. Every part of him hurt, even parts he didn't think _could_ hurt. For a brief astrosecond he wondered why he was hurting so much. Then everything came rushing back. The Canyons, the Chargers, the standoff...and him getting knocked over the edge. He remembered falling, falling a long ways, impacting some ledges, and eventually hitting the ground way too hard. He remembered nothing after that.

"Ah, ah. Move and I'll disable all your motor relays. _All. Of. Them._ "

Wait a klik. "...Knockout?!"

Smokescreen's optics moved around the room (as much as they could without moving his helm) until they fell on that familiar flashy red mech who had tried to kill him and the Autobots on Earth in the past. Weird was the day he was genuinely happy to see him. He was busy looking at a scan of his frame. Thanks to it he saw that there were some pretty nasty dents and busted mechanisms. Some minor dings and internal damage had been fixed up but many more major ones remained. It wasn't pretty.

Well. That explained why he hurt so much. That fall into the Canyons had done a real number on him.

Knockout commented as he went about gathering tools: "You're lucky you survived that fall. I'd have thought only a bruiser or a beast could survive a plunge into the upper stratum of the Underworld. That's quite a drop in case you didn't know – almost ten thousand feet down. If that Energon spring hadn't softened the fall you'd have probably wound up as a pile of scrap. Fortunate, that. Almost _too_ fortunate."

Smokescreen cocked a curious brow ridge at the other mech. "You didn't strike me as the type of guy to believe that sort of thing. Even for me that's a little hard to swallow, and I've seen some pretty crazy things."

"So have I – possibly even crazier things than you've seen. And who said I believed anything?" Knockout retorted a bit haughtily, his now blue optics flicking over to look at him, "I'm just making a comment, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. Some 'bots have that level of sheer dumb luck. Obviously you're one of them. That's what makes you so Primus-slagged annoying. That and that Phase Shifter of yours," he sighed a tad dramatically. "Shame it got damaged. Repairs'd go a lot easier if I could use that, but –"

The red medic was cut off when the doors hissed open to permit a very pretty, dainty femme with a tri-shade green color palate, her soft jade optics twinkling. She held in one hand a datapad, and magnetically attached to her hip was a beautifully crafted photoharp of high quality. Smokescreen admitted to himself that she was really cute and that he was confused as to why she had a musical instrument with her. Photoharps were used by musicians, not medics. She was a medic after all – he knew that thanks to the symbols on her arms. They identified her as an emergency responder and a healer-in-training.

"Doctor, honestly. Shockwave is seeing to the repair with help from some other scientists. It'll be in working order shortly. You can manage perfectly well without it. And stop giving the patient a hard time, please. He _did_ fall into the Canyons. Don't harass him."

Knockout turned and grinned at her. "Oh? And who gave the apprentice the ability to go ordering around her mentor, hmm? Were you promoted to a full medic when I was too busy saving a life to notice?"

"No. But talking isn't going to help Smokescreen, is it?"

"Who knows? It might. He never did know how to shut up. In fact, I enjoyed it while he was under."

The femme rolled her optics, swept past him, plucked the tools out of his hands and traded them for the datapad.

Smokescreen watched the two interact in silence, mainly to satisfy himself that Knockout wasn't giving the pretty girl a hard time by pestering her with unwanted advances. While his tone of voice suggested mutual respect (with maybe a little harmless flirting in it, too) some of his body language spoke otherwise; Knockout was never one to pass up a pretty lady. The femme appeared perfectly aware of that but she was showing plainly in her own body language that she wasn't interested. He had the feeling no matter how Knockout tried to win her, she would be immune to his charms.

"Uh...who're you?" he asked finally. Knockout had never mentioned having an apprentice or assistant or whatever she was. Then again, he communicated with him only sparsely. That, and whenever he _did_ communicate it was almost always about himself. Mech was a massive narcissist.

The femme jolted in realization. "Oh! I'm sorry. My manners aren't usually so bad. I'm just overloaded with work at the moment. I'm Charity. Pleasure to meet you, sir, though I wish we could've met under different circumstances. Better circumstances."

"Ditto."

She smiled, half in kindness and half in apology, "But don't worry. We'll have enough time to get acquainted. You're going to be here for a while. No medic in their right mind would let you go walking the streets even a deca-cycle after falling to the Sonic Canyons. You aren't leaving here till you've recovered to our satisfaction."

Smokescreen groaned. It wasn't the femme he was not looking forward to – she seemed pleasant enough. It was the being confined to a clinic for a long time until the medics gave him the all clear he wasn't thrilled about. Being put under clinic arrest was the worst. That meant he wouldn't be able to go out, explore, walk around and meet random 'bots on the street or attend meetings of the Council and the Predacus or help the Guard. _The horror._ And that wasn't to mention Magnus might not be too happy about the incident on the Edge once he heard about it – if he hadn't already. His chronometer was saying he'd been out for a good joor or so. Still, while he was confined here he might as well get a call done. Might as well check in on some friends, one highly introverted Avioid in particular.

"...I'm allowed to give someone a call, right? I mean, that's okay?"

Charity nodded with another one of her pleasant smiles. "Of course. I see no problem with that. If I'm not being too nosy, could I ask who?"

"Just a friend I met when she rammed into my helm."

The startled look Charity gave him made him laugh – and the laugh made him wince. He couldn't even _laugh_ right now?

* * *

Zodiac was just settling down in her quarters, happily reading a digitized version of a murder mystery novel from Earth. It was one of many the terrestrial authoress had written, but the one she read now was considered an all-time classic even all this time later. She was so absorbed in the story she didn't notice her comm. link ping two times over the course of only a breem or so. In her mind real life could wait. This was _way_ too good to put down right now. Characters who weren't that seemed. a tangled spider's web of lies stemming from the murder of a child and, later, an old man on a train. Primus this authoress was _good._

The third ping drew her out of the realm of imagination. Sighing with annoyance the Avioid put the datapad aside and checked who it was. She expected one of the CERF to speak with her, as they had been doing so more frequently. She was _not_ expecting the comm. frequency of the mech she'd rammed into in that plaza a while back: Smokescreen.

"H-Hello?" her voice came out as more of a squeak.

* _Hi. Sorry I haven't comm'ed you since we met at the Observatory. I've been super busy lately. Kinda assumed you were busy, too. So...um. How're you doin'?_ *

"I'm okay, I guess. I mean, nothing _crazy_ has happened. I try to avoid crazy. I prefer reading and working in quiet places and avoiding the Council. I like my little corner of normal."

* _...You do realize you don't fit the definition of "normal," don't you? Speed-gifteds aren't exactly waltzing around cities you know. Introverts don't do that either._ *

She made a face. "Shut up. A femme can dream of being normal."

The door to Lattice's quarters hissed open to permit the Avioid's apartment buddy. She cocked a quizzical brow ridge at her, glyphs for curiosity flittering around in her field strongly enough to be read clearly. Zodiac responded back with glyphs for accident, slow, and friendship. Lattice's confusion thus lifted to be replaced with a sly smile that made the Avioid cast a withering scowl at her. Still smiling, Lattice drew back.

"So what about you? Anything interesting happen to you?"

* _Oh, you know. Went to go dissolve a Predacon/'bot stand off down south. Got knocked into the Sonic Canyons by an angry, rampaging fire horse. Just the usual. Nothing major. And now I'm stuck in a clinic for an unknown period of time run by an ex-'Con who tried a ton of times to kill the team I was on on Earth. But he's cool now. We're sorta friends._ * A pause. * _He told me to say hi to you._ *

For almost a quarter of a breem the Avioid said nothing in return. Her wide-opticed shock at such a statement left her speechless. Smokescreen considered falling into the Sonic Canyons as "the usual?" Primus. She was almost scared to ask what he thought an " _un_ usual" solar cycle was.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Told ya there was a reason for Smoke being in a clinic. :P**


	8. Chapter 7

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 7: Musical Medicine

* _As an astronomer I believe a large planet like Cybertron would not only have longer days (36 hours like I hazarded) but it would also necessitate a longer "month" or lunar cycle. Since Cybertron is so large and there are two moons_ – _not just one like Earth_ – _and from what I gather they orbit as a pair, I believe the way to calculate it would be like this:_

 _Once both moons have done a complete orbital circuit and the first one re-appears in the sky, that equates a lunar cycle on Cybertron. When the first moon re-appears, that starts the lunar cycle over again in the sky. Now, I would like to think they orbit at different distances, like Masser and Sacunda in Skyrim. So thanks to their different orbital rates it is not uncommon for both moons to appear in the sky at times, though it doesn't happen every single night. So considering Cybertron's long days I would like to think a lunar cycle or "month" there would be equal to about two or three months on Earth._

* * *

Smokescreen was thoroughly and utterly bored. Bored to the nth degree. Bored to the point a singularity of boredom would open up in the room at any point and swallow him and anyone that came in. It hadn't even been three solar cycles yet since his fall and he was bored to the point of considering ways – _any_ way – to annoy any of the doctors that came in to check on him despite it still being painful to move too much. He wanted to _move_ for slag's sake! He wanted to be up and doing something! The most movement he had ever gotten in this place so far was whenever he was in power down, dreaming of racing across the open flats or sparring in an envisioned practice ring with Optimus. And those weren't even real. He kind of wished those spars were real. They sure _felt_ real. But he knew they weren't. The aches he felt after them were from his fall, not from thrown punches or kicks. If he'd had a choice he would have gladly swapped the fall with some plain physical injuries from some of the Chargers. At least then he might've gotten out of here sooner.

Ultra Magnus and 'Bee had come to see how he was. Knowing a valued soldier and friend had toppled into the upper stratum of the Underworld wasn't what you heard ever solar cycle, and it was bound to cause worry and some curiosity. Bulkhead had even said he'd stop by one solar cycle after work, but since he was way over in Vos at the time of his call it might be a while.

So here he was, alone in a room, unable to move from the constant ache in his frame, bored to death.

The painkillers did work, naturally – the docs had made sure of that – but they weren't one hundred percent effective, and the medics in the clinic were a bit leery of giving him anything stronger than what he was already on. Knockout had said that'd be like giving a mini-con Predacon-strength tranquilizers. Nice as that sounded on first hearing it, that probably wasn't a good idea.

He gave a hollow groan of boredom. If he didn't hurt so much he'd get up off this slab and walk out of here. Lying here doing nothing was not productive. And Ultra Magnus had put him on medical leave until the docs were happy with his condition. Knowing Knockout's perfectionist attitude that might be an entire stellar cycle. He was not willing to stay cooped up in here for that long. He'd wind up in a mental hospital at that rate thanks to boredom and stir craziness. From one sort of clinic to another; psh. No, not happening. Soon as he could move around without feeling like a combiner was stomping on him he was bolting. He turned his helm to one side on hearing voices outside. Two voices. That was one thing he liked about his room and his care-takers: they'd left the door open so he could people watch and do a bit of innocent eavesdropping to keep entertained. Smokescreen recognized them with ease. Knockout and his cute assistant Charity were coming down the hall in this direction. He could hear them talking. Charity sounded concerned. Knockout sounded close to aghast. Interested, the blue and yellow mech strained to overhear.

" _...n't believe that idiot didn't come in sooner!_ " That was Knockout. " _An entire wing torn at the pivot hinges by scraplets, and he avoids medical attention for an entire lunar cycle?! I knew Predacons were mad but that_ – _that's insane!_ " A pause. " _So. What was your prognosis and healing regime, sweetspark? Ripclaw is the first Predacon I've let you tend to without my supervision._ "

Part of him bristled at the affectionate term. He put that aside as he listened more. The two medics were getting ever closer, and once they reached his quarters their topic of conversation might switch to something else entirely. Ripclaw...Name didn't ring any bells to him. Granted the main names he knew were of the Well Guardians, some of the Raging Chargers and, of course, Zodiac. But whoever he was this Predacon was so stubborn he'd avoided medical care for a sundered wing for an entire lunar cycle? Wow. And here he'd thought Predaking was a mule.

" _Starboard wing we'll have to remove. It's useless now. Thankfully the nerve bundles are salvageable. But I've taken a blueprint of the undamaged port wing and I'll have the technicians begin forging it in a few solar cycles. Ripclaw will be grounded until the wing is complete and re-attached, but I suggest we keep him here as an in-patient to keep him from gaining another wound as severe. Not to be mean or anything but he strikes me as the kind to either search out trouble or aimlessly blunder into it._ "

" _Excellent prognosis and treatment plan, my little hummingbird,_ " purred Knockout happily, " _Of course, I could have said it with much greater panache but you always were one for sticking to the simple explanation._ "

He heard Charity give a faint snort but for some inexplicable reason he could picture her smiling. He was a bit baffled by their relationship. Knockout wanted it to be something more but Charity was content to keep it purely as a student and teacher one with plain hints of friendship. She was happy to leave it there. Smokescreen nearly laughed. Pretty as the femme was she was not interested in any kind of courtship entanglement just yet. Her medical practice was more important to her right now. Smokescreen caught sight of them as they passed his quarters. He was a bit surprised when they passed by entirely, still talking medicine. But then he heard one set of pedefalls, the lighter set, pause and return back. An excuse was muttered but it was too low for him to decipher the words. Charity's gently curved helm peeked in a few astroseconds later, a friendly smile on her lip-plates. She stepped in, but there was something in the way she moved that made it look like she was dancing. He had to admit she really was pretty cute. He couldn't really blame Knockout for trying to win her over. There was something about her that made you _look_ at her.

"Hey," she said. "How are you?"

"Bored to the point of insanity," Smokescreen admitted dryly. "And feeling like a combiner is trying to fold me into a Volkswagen beetle."

Charity laughed – a sweet, gentle laugh. The sound alone made him smile. She was such a stark contrast from Knockout and Ratchet. One was preening and gloating, the other dry and acerbic. From the interactions he had had so far with her he was of the opinion she was sweetness incarnate. She never had been harsh with anyone here so far as he knew, and she didn't yell. But one thing he still hadn't figured out was that photoharp. She had it on her right now. He could see it on her hip as she moved around, tidied the room, and generally kept the place looking spruce. She drew nearer to him and checked the medic equipment and gather some data. The femme turned to see him looking at the instrument with a deeply quizzical expression. She returned it. A few glyphs for confusion flickered in her warm field. They were quickly replaced with ones for learning and happiness.

"You want to know why a clinic apprentice has a photoharp?" she asked, smiling.

"Why _do_ you have it? You're not a professional musician..." his optics widened. "Are you? Because that'd be so cool if you were. Sweet nurse by day. Epic rocker by night."

She laughed again, "Hardly so dramatic as that, sir. I picked up music as a hobby thanks to a femme friend of mine, Harmonichord. She's not a professional musician like the Artist or the Knights of Unicron but she's always had this fascination with music ever since she was a sparkling. I guess you could say it rubbed off on me. I've been teaching myself how to play for the past few groons and teaching myself some songs, all in my spare time. I'm not an expert either – really, I'm just a hobbyist – but I've been told I'm rather good at it. Patients here really seem to enjoy it at any rate. Knockout doesn't seem to mind."

He kept his quizzical expression. He'd never heard any music from his quarters. That could just mean she kept the doors to whatever chamber she was in shut so as not to disturb anyone else. Conscientious of her. Now he was curious to know how good she really was. There was an unidentifiable something in her voice that told him she could sing beautifully.

"So...you know any songs on it?" he wondered. "Can you show me?"

She blinked. A shy, sweet smile broke out. The look on her faceplates then made him think she might be blushing internally. Obviously she wasn't used to people asking her questions like this. Primus, she really was cute.

"I know a few," she admitted, "They're mostly Terran songs. That's – that won't be a problem with you, will it?" she asked, tapping two of her slender digits together like a sparkling who might be scolded.

He snorted, "I listen to the Council's rules about as much as I can make myself sit still for joors on end. Meaning I don't. I used to work on Earth for crying out loud. I kinda liked a lot of 'em. I mean, these are the same people who are so musically oriented that they can make a dubstep remix just by tapping pencils on different surfaces at different rates and patterns. I'm not even kidding. I remember Miko showing me the video online one time. Primus...that feels like a lifetime ago now."

"Well. Alright then. Do you have any preferences – any songs in particular?"

"Nope. Just pick one you like and impress me."

He watched her in silence as she sat in one of the few guest seats. The photoharp detached from her hip with a faint metallic clicking noise. Smokescreen's mesh tingled when the femme healer ghosted her slender digits over the strings, the notes changing as he listened. The noise it made – it was haunting and beautiful and mesmerizing all at once, and she hadn't even begun playing yet. That thing must've cost her a ton of credits for it to sound this amazing. How much did a medical apprentice even make for that matter? He'd never really thought about that before now; he'd never had a reason to. His pointed questions ended when he thought for a moment the medic had acquired an acoustic guitar somehow. But no – it was the photoharp. She'd tuned it to sound more like that instrument. Weird. But it still sounded amazingly good.

That was before she even started strumming.

And before her voice joined.

 _"Sometimes you think you'll be fine by yourself,_

 _'Cause a dream is a wish that you make all alone._

 _It's easy to feel like you don't need help,_

 _But it's harder to walk on your own._

 _You'll change inside when you realize,_

 _The world comes to life and everything's right,_

 _From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,_

 _That helps you to find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in..._

 _The gift of a friend. The gift of a friend..._

 _Someone who knows when you're lost and you're scared,_

 _There through the highs and lows,_

 _Someone you can count on, someone who cares,_

 _Beside you wherever you go._

 _You'll change inside when you realize,_

 _The world comes to life and everything's right,_

 _From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,_

 _That helps you to find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in..._

 _The gift of a friend!_

 _And when your hope crashes down, shattering to the ground_

 _You, you feel alone._

 _When you don't know which way to go and there's no sense leading you on,"_

Her voice suddenly dropped in volume, becoming gentler. She opened her shuttered optics to look at him squarely, shimmering jade meeting vibrant blue.

 _"You're not alone..._

 _The world comes to life and everything's right,_

 _From beginning to end when you have a friend by your side,_

 _That helps you find the beauty you are when you open your heart and believe in..._

 _When you believe in,_

 _You can believe in._

 _The gift of a friend..._ "

Her voice trailed off and the strumming became gentler. Eventually the two faded into beautiful oblivion. Charity's hands removed themselves from the photoharp and her helm rose to look at him as if for approval. Smokescreen gawked back at her, baby blue optics as round and large as a freighter's wheels. He was trying to compute everything he'd heard and seen and felt. Her voice – her voice didn't belong in a clinic. It belonged in one of the temples or on the professional stage. Her behavior had altered when she'd played, too. The sweetness he'd come to associate with her had been there alright but there'd been something else in it – something he had been able to physically feel. His minor bodily aches had simply washed away as he had listened, and his restless boredom was now less acute. Unless he was imagining it, a small series of cracks on his wrist were gone as well. Just gone. Zip. Nada. And he was about ninety-eight percent sure they'd been there before the song, too.

Smokescreen's optics scanned the miraculously healed wrist crack. "How...? What...?"

He looked at her sharply. The mech recalled something he'd read a long time ago in a data pad while he had been serving as a guard to Iacon's head archivist, Alpha Trion. It had been a data pad filled with old stories of mechs and femmes granted unusual but powerful abilities, supposedly granted by Primus himself. _Relkana_ they were called in the old stories. In English it translated roughly to "blessed" or "chosen." In the modern day and age they were known more simply as "Blades." None had been found for many ages, and by the time of the stories being written down had been dismissed as legends and folk stories, intended to teach lessons of morality and faith during previous ages. And, interestingly enough, the stories said they appeared only before a crisis. Some had immense strength, equal to that of a full-sized combiner; some had been able to control the weather around them. Some could read minds like open books. And some of them, he remembered, had been potent healers, reported to have been able to heal with a touch and even revive the near dead. Stories like that didn't just come up out of the blue. Someone had to concoct them – or else observe them.

"... _Relkana...?_ " he murmured. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Music couldn't heal. Yet here was a minor injury healed near perfectly. Either that or he was going nuttier than a fruit bat from lack of activity. Or both. Maybe his processor was just bored and making connections and interpreting things that weren't really there. He could be imagining there had been a crack on his wrist.

Charity looked shocked.

"Oh! No, no. I'm honored you label me as one, sir. Truly. But I'm just an apprentice medic whose hobby is music. I'm not one of the blessed. At least, I don't _think_ I am. I thought those were just old tales...?" she looked at him curiously.

"Stories have to start somewhere," he reminded her pointedly.

She granted him that.

Neither of them spoke for a time. Smokescreen's staring subsided. His stunned silence bore way to fascination. For someone who hadn't been playing for a long time she was scary good at music. She had a natural gift for it it seemed like. She'd get along really well with the Sky Painters if she ever met them. Those guys were naturally gifted, too. Oh! Maybe he could introduce Zodiac to her at some point? She was a Sky Painter. Charity was so sweet he had a hard time believing Zodiac would try to avoid or hide from her. 'Course, with someone like her, he wasn't exactly holding his breath.

"...Could you do another?"

The femme smiled and said: "Sure. One more. After that I have to go."

The photoharp was once more re-tuned. This time it began to sound more like its terrestrial namesake. The tune itself was much softer, less energetic. Vague recognition stirred. He'd heard this melody before but the name escaped him for the moment. But the first stanza remedied that.

" _Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling._

 _From glen to glen, and down the mountainside._

 _The summer's gone and all the flowers are dying,_

 _Tis you, tis you must go and I must bide._

 _But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,_

 _Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow._

 _And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow_

 _Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy I love you so._

 _But when you come and all the flowers are dying._

 _If I am dead, as dead I well may be._

 _I pray you'll find the place where I am lying,_

 _And kneel and say an 'ave' there for me._

 _And I will hear though soft you tread above me,_

 _And on my grave will warmer, sweeter be._

 _For you'll come and tell me that you love me,_

 _And I will sleep in peace until you come to me..."_

The music had been so soothing that the Elite Guardsmech hadn't noticed his processor gradually slowing during it. He wanted to fight it, to hear the medic's voice and music some more, but halfway through he decided against it. By the time the final soft notes were echoing around the chamber he'd slipped back into power down. He wanted to say he'd imagined it, like he might have imagined the seemingly healed wrist crack, but this time he swore he heard, right at the end before the world blacked out peacefully, another male voice join with the medic's own, one his voice recognition programs failed to pin a name on.

* * *

Charity rose and re-attached the photoharp to her hip. As quiet as a mouse she moved to shutter the window in the room that looked out onto the sun-bathed landscape of Iacon. The room dimmed. Considering it still a bit too bright to permit undisturbed power down – which in her opinion a patient like Smokescreen needed even if he'd never admit it – she strode over to the door and pressed her hand onto a panel. The lights above dimmed to a comforting early twilight. Dim light levels always served to stimulate power down protocols. She'd always been curious about that. Her kind were not bound by day and night cycles like many other races in the galaxy, yet some processor functions were affected at different times of a full five and a half joor solar cycle. Some were more active during daylight joors, some more active during nighttime joors. Apparently this hadn't always been the case. There were no medical journals from previous ages reporting this. It was new. Why this was was the subject of discussion among many in the medical and neurological fields.

As she went back over to get a reading of his injuries with her arm-mounted scanner she passed a certain point in the room and paused at it. Unlike where she had been in the past couple of kliks this particular spot was decidedly warmer. It was...nice. Like someone unseen was standing there with their arms wrapped around her in a kind embrace. Smiling, she stood there for an astrosecond or two and drank in the peculiar sense. She didn't know what or who it was, but perhaps there was a friendly spark in the room lending a hand. Such things were reported to happen every so often. Some small part of her thought it might be Primus – but in that case she felt she would know, deep down. She did not know. All she knew was that sense was pleasant and had to stem from something.

"Ah...hello?" she asked quietly, "Is someone here?"

She listened and watched. She'd read a few reports from a few sensoriums that sparks tended to make their presence known in strange ways. Toying with electronics was one such method. Being unable to interact with anything physically they often resorted to this method since it really only required energy manipulation which a spark could purportedly accomplish. But nothing happened with any of the equipment or lighting that she could observe. The warmth faded, sort of wafting away like it had drifted from where she was standing.

"Hello?" she asked again.

No answer.

"If you're going to stay here, could I make a request that you not wake my patient or disturb him in any way? He got badly hurt. He needs his rest."

No answer. Then, as she watched, a light above flickered every so slightly. A beep of the medical equipment made her look back down to see the Elite Guardsmech's neural activity ease down from highly active to a steady rise and fall. That was all the answer she felt she needed. There _was_ someone in the room, someone who had merged with the Allspark at some point and had returned to assist in what ways they could. It seemed whoever it was was just as concerned about his condition as she was and was ensuring pleasant dreams to keep Smokescreen peacefully under for a while.

"Could you keep an optic on him for me for a few breems? I need to go talk to my superior. If he wakes up, make sure he doesn't do anything silly. Like try to escape when he can barely move still. I heard him mumbling in his recharge the other night about racing or bolting or something like that."

The light above flickered again, this time more visibly. She might've imagined it, but the ways the lights flickered reminded her of a pattern of laughter. She smiled and bowed her helm respectfully.

"Thank you. I'll be back in a little while."

She left the room.

If she had turned to look back she would have noticed a disturbance in the air within that roughly resembled a tall, modestly built figure. She would have also noticed the air behind it was disturbed, and arched out like a skeletal but rounded set of wings. The figure lingered there by the medical berth for a while. The air shimmered as it appeared to reach out with a hand and lay it on the slumbering mech's chassis. But then the air shimmered as it moved away to take the seat the medic had been in not even a breem previously. It shimmered again as it folded one lower limb over the other and leaned back. A voice, old and powerful but gentle as a summer breeze whispered around the room:

" _Tzo a'qigja lux. Ylve'o Æf_ æ _n"_

Smokescreen stirred a little as if he was receptive to the faint voice. He then fell still again.

 _One deca-cycle later..._

* * *

[...Hey, Zodiac?]

Taken unawares, Zodiac gave a little yelp and jolted instinctively, whacking her helm on the underside of the table where she was busy re-organizing all the information on her research data pads. The muffled bang the impact caused made Lattice peek out from her quarters in concern, searching for the cause of the noise. She eventually located her under the table.

"You alright, hon?"

Zodiac assured her she was fine even as she rubbed the minor ding on her helm a bit ruefully. Lattice thus ducked back into her quarters.

Deciding it was best to take this conversation elsewhere, Zodiac flew into her own quarters and perched on the sill of the open window. In the near distance Iacon's city center gleamed in the sunlight. She missed the sight of the Manganese Mountains of her youth. That was where the Painters stayed through the winter months in their travels. The mountains and the small city tucked within the peaks offered a safe haven from the harsh ammonia ice storms that whipped through the northern hemisphere. Though the people there fell under the designation of city-dweller, they were religious folk and unbiased. She remembered they'd always been welcoming of the nomadic fliers.

"Lieutenant Smokescreen?" the Avioid demanded. "Um. W-Why are you calling? Is something wrong?"

[What? No. I mean, I'm still stuck in the clinic. Whoop-de-doo. I was actually calling to see if you were okay and what's up. Anything exciting happen to you lately?]

She thought about that for a while. Considering Smokescreen's definition of "normal" that she'd heard the last time they had spoken to one another, she was unsure of what constituted "exciting" to him. She led a pretty normal life when not gallivanting around the galaxy in the _Bolt_ with her crew. Oh! Maybe that was something she could tell him that was somewhat exciting news – well, really exciting news for her anyway. Because it was.

"Ah. Well. My ship's fixed. The _Tieyeian Bolt_. If you've been to the docks you might've seen it. Its the real small, speedy, kinda sleek looking scout ship. Technically its classified as a survey ship. Technicians assure me the thing's sound as a bell now. Even got the shielding matrix upgraded a bit thanks to one of the engineers. Windstorm I think his name was. Apparently the guy's, like, a prodigy in the field of star-ship engineering, even among the Crystallines. So, I mean, there's that. Does that count?"

[That's great news! So that means you're off on more missions soon? Planet hopping and stuff?]

"Erm. I'd _like_ to but there's a bit of a roadblock that's kind of keeping me ground bound at the moment."

[Oh? What kind?]

She explained, "Well. Erm. You know that Predacons as a whole have a hard time getting mainstream careers and jobs because of all the political and racial scrap going on, right? Um. That kinda brings me to the roadblock. The Predacus is supposed to meet with the High Council within the next lunar cycle or so – no definite date's been put down because I guess they're still debating among themselves or something. Anyway, a bunch of my space buddies – Neutrino, Corona, Sunflare, Coma; y'know all them – they think it would be a good idea if I serve as intermediary and representative when the time comes since I'm such a nice and super smart Predacon apparently. I had a talk with some of my wing mates in the Sky Painters a couple solar cycles ago and they think it'd be a great idea. Skyshine and Nightscream said they'd come along. The Artist is gonna be there by default since he's an alpha and all the alphas have to be present for this sort of get together. It's just how it works. My space buddies'll all be there, too. I decided not to bring some of my crew because tensions'd already be breaking the stratosphere at that point. They're all pseudo-beasts in case you didn't know."

[...Sounds like a great idea if you ask me. You got a lot of voices helping you out when the time comes. But, uh...something's bothering you about it either way, huh?]

Zodiac shuddered. She nodded despite Smokescreen not being able to see her.

"All the High Council's gonna be present," she said. "All the alphas. Reporters galore probably, too. All those people watching me...I'm scared outta my mind I'm gonna lock up and turn into a mess of nerves and ruin the whole thing. That entire meeting is a performance. And I _don't_ perform in front of large crowds. Aside from some of the alphas and my friends they're all complete strangers to me! I can't do it! I can't! But if I don't I might make everything worse for my kind! And if I do go and screw it up it'll be made worse anyway!"

She very nearly broke down as the panic began rising with a vengeance. An endless stream of possibilities began to form in her processor as she began to think of the infinite number of ways this sort of high-tension political meeting might go. Most of them ended up badly. A few tears formed in her optics. She began shivering and wringing her hands.

[Okay, Knockout'll be probably kill me for suggesting this...but you think it'll help if I go with, too?"

The Avioid blinked.

"B-But you're in a clinic," she blubbered almost incoherently, "And you don't even know for how long! You fell into the Sonic Canyons for Onyx's sake! I'm amazed you even slagging survived! I can't imagine your physical condition right now!"

[You said this thing is gonna happen about a lunar cycle or so from now, right? I may be berth-ridden right now but I may be a lot better by then. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to walk and talk without problems. So how about it? I got a bone to pick with the Council anyway about some of their policies. Also, I _really, really,_ _really_ want a good excuse to blow out my vocalizer at Star Saber, the demented rust bucket. Thanks to him my buddy's stuck as a beat cop and can't get any higher on the ladder, and he's monitoring me and Magnus pretty tightly. Oh, and he has this thing against Preds. Which, by the way, is not cool. Just 'cause they look like animals doesn't make them not people. I'd bring Wheeljack as some sorta wild intimidation factor but...he might blow up the building or try to shoot one of the Councilors. Wouldn't put it past him. Magnus might be present along with some of the Guard. I dunno. I'll ask him. There are usually guards for this sort of meeting since, y'know, Preds are involved. Not that they're bad or anything but, ah, they kinda got tempers. One wrong word and _boom._ All the Pit breaks loose.]

She wiped away some of her panic-induced tears. "O-Okay. I-I guess. I won't demand you go with. Just come if you're up to it. But...you said your guard pals or your boss might be there?"

[I'll give 'em a ring soon and see if they'll be there. If I can't make it, they'll back you up. Sound good?]

A small smile broke out.

"Sure. Um. Thanks. Before I go, what's Ultra Magnus like? I've never met him."

Smokescreen laughed on the other end: [He's cool. Don't worry about him. 'Bee, Arcee, and everyone on the old team calls him the Awkward Uncle. 'Jackie and Bulk call him Old Dragonslayer as an inside joke. He's kinda stern and sometimes sounds a bit mean or harsh at times but he's not so bad once you get to know him. War veteran, too. Translation? He's a total badaft. _Don't_ get into a fight with him. You will lose. Painfully. This is the same guy who was trained by Optimus Prime and was not afraid to go toe-to-toe with Megatron and Predaking – and who repeatedly bashed Predaking with the Forge of Solus Prime when he was under 'Con control during the War. Just puttin' that out there. Actually, I think the Well Guardians have a title for him because of those bashings: _Hoevala ae tyq Triklava'ch._ I think it means "Bane of the Beast" or something like that.]

"Technically," Zodiac interrupted quickly, "it means 'One with the strength of the mountains' in Draconian. Simplified it just means 'One who is mighty.'"

[Oh, _that's_ what it means? Huh. Okay. Thanks for that tidbit. May have get to get you to tutor me in Predacon.] He paused. [So yeah. Awkward Uncle Dragonslayer. That's Magnus in a nutshell for ya.]

Zodiac actually managed a laugh of her own.

"He sounds nice," she said.

* * *

 **Author's Note: The meeting of the two Councils will be chapter after this or so. I wanna do a purely dialogue one to do some building with the Sky Painters and the Predacon language.**


	9. Chapter 8

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: To Catch an Avioid**

Part 8: Hakuna Matata

* * *

[Smokescreen? You have some visitors.]

The Elite Guardsmech recuperating in Knockout's clinic was glad of the distraction a visit would bring, and even gladder that Charity was the one telling him. People watching and eavesdropping and occasionally ringing up friends for a casual conversation was great and all, but in-person visits he liked the most despite them being a little more rare. Charity was a teeny bit protective of him owing to his condition, and thus he was only allowed a few visits every solar cycle. Personally he thought he was doing a lot better than a couple deca-cycles ago – he could actually move without setting off all of his neurodes now.

He half expected Bulkhead, Arcee, or Wheeljack to come marching in. Bumblebee stopped by almost daily to swap a story or two with him, some funny and some grim. In many ways he was more reliable than any media outlet – his personal reporter, unbiased and unfiltered. It was nice to see he wasn't letting the whole beat cop thing get him down.

What clopped into the room made him blink, for it was a far cry from his usual visitors: two Equinines in their beast forms made their way in one behind the other, and he recognized both. The bestial duo stood across from him, looking at him squarely in the optics. There was something in the dark bronze beast's yellow optics that, if it wasn't shame, was at least something very near to it. One hoof shuffled awkwardly. The white Equinine's horn was unlit, only its tip burning like a hot rod dipped in a foundry forge.

"Flame-Horn? Trailblazer?" he gaped. He sat up a little too quickly and winced.

The pristine white, horned beast stamped a single hoof and lowered his helm in polite greeting. Trailblazer mimicked him.

"Lieutenant Smokescreen," Flame-Horn said. "I came here to formally apologize for what occurred on Axsixtic Edge."

Smokescreen stared. Well, this solar cycle was off to a strange if positive start. He said nothing in return. He got the sense Flame-Horn and Trailblazer wanted to elaborate further.

"While my tribe is known for being volatile, quick to flare like many Predacons, we pride ourselves on never damaging our opponents beyond immediate repair. Our strategy was one of intimidating diplomacy. We were not there to start a firefight. I sincerely regret you were harmed. That was not our intent. My herd reacted only when we realized diplomacy was no longer an option. At that point we felt the only way to free Fireflight was through force."

At Flame-Horn's side, Trailblazer scuffed a hoof against the smooth floor, "I regret what I did, lieutenant. Thing with a lot of Predacons is that once you get our fires good and stoked it's hard to bring them back down. Fireflight's like a brother to me. I couldn't stand his being locked away in the Canyons for a crime committed in all innocence. No Equinine does well within walls. Any Avioid or Blue Moon Canipid would say the same. But those Canyon Dwellers – they were being so uselessly _stubborn_. Implying we couldn't be trusted? I...I snapped. I am sorry. I would have come sooner to make amends but my _Lyrvin_ only just concluded a few solar cycles ago and –"

"And you guys don't like groundbridges, so it takes longer for you to get around. I know. Not a problem. Don't worry about it. You came in the end."

Trailblazer's burning optics flickered in surprise. He'd expected Smokescreen to be irate with him or at any rate upset, but he seemed very relaxed. It was hard for him to know whether that was the result of the painkillers or genuine acceptance. Even more surprising was the thin, wry, but genuine smile that formed at his expressed bewilderment.

"Honestly, I'm not mad at you. Either of you. I get why you reacted the way you did," Smokescreen said. "If somebody basically kidnapped my little bro for making an honest mistake I'd be flaming mad, too. To be honest I'm mad at myself. I was sent there with Chromia and Jazz to help their Guard get that situation under control and instead it exploded in our faceplates. Because of that your kind's under more scrutiny than you already were. I made this whole racial tension issue worse by failing. _I'm_ the one who should be saying he's sorry. Your lives just got that much harder."

"That is a noble sentiment," admitted the horned beast. "You harbor no ill will over this?"

Smokescreen shrugged: "Not really, no. Like I said, I'm mad at myself, not at you guys. Forget about it. It's in the past. No going back and changing it or anything. _Hakuna matata_ and all that."

The two beast-formers gave him puzzled looks, helms tilting to one side in unison. Those were not Cybertronian words they knew of. Smokescreen grinned and laughed a little.

"Sorry, sorry. Earth words. African. Swahili. Just means not to worry. Nothing we can do to change what happened so just learn what you can from it, forget about it, and move on. Seriously, you don't need to harp on this."

Their puzzled expressions lifted. Trailblazer exchanged a startled look with Flame-Horn who looked like he'd just suffered an epiphany of some sort. Then the fiery white Charger bowed his helm again. Smokescreen had to admit this Predacon was a pretty nice guy all around when he wasn't driven into a protective berserker frenzy. Predaking was like that, too. Yet another question to ask Zodiac when he called her up: was there some sort of societal code that forbade an alpha to express rudeness in a private setting? He only knew two alphas so far. That wasn't a lot to go making guess from. Hopefully he could add more at some point in the near future. He prayed he'd be well enough to attend that meeting of the two councils.

" _Htep lux tlakfo Æfæn, wundin i'ilohem._ " said the alpha beast.

Now it was Smokescreen's turn to tilt his helm in clueless inquisitiveness. Only one word he knew the definition of, but it didn't exactly clear up what the beast-former had said to him. "Æfæn" was a word borrowed from the ancient Predacons and used by both beast and mech of this age, and the deceptively simple word had a couple of different meanings, each dependent on context. He didn't know the context in this. In fact, he knew next to nothing about the Predacon language other than a few words and phrases. It didn't sound mean though. The alpha Charger had said it very politely.

And instead of translating, Flame-Horn stamped a hoof lightly against the floor and turned to leave, a small bucking toss of his helm resulting in Trailblazer following him. The blue and yellow mech shuttered his optics in a rapid, startled blink and stared at the now empty threshold.

* * *

The Elite Guardsmech sat there on the medical berth and thought about the peculiar phrase for nearly three breems uninterrupted, but in the end was forced to draw a complete blank. He felt, for some strange, inexplicable reason that held no ready explanation, that he should know not just one word – but two. He felt he'd heard it somewhere else. Recently. But that was stupid. He knew only one word, and even then he didn't know the context for it. How could you know something without knowing what it was you knew? Should he know this mysterious second word through transfer he felt he should be able to pin a digit on it at once, along with where it was he'd heard it. And he couldn't.

' _Hey!_ ' Smokescreen thought as an idea assailed him, ' _That's something I could put to Magnus! If we got some Predacons to teach their language to the Guards of the cities that might make bridging the gap a little easier! Some of the Academies teach modern and ancient Predacon, I think. Maybe we could rope them in, too!_ '

Not willing to put the notion off, he opened up a channel back to Ultra Magnus.

[Smokescreen? If you're requesting to be returned to duty, my answer is again 'No.' Until I get a clean slate of health from Knockout or Charity you are remaining on medical leave.]

"No, no, no, no. I'm not calling you to beg you to let me out of the doghouse for gazillionth time. I got an idea I wanted to share. Flame-Horn and Trailblazer caused it when they visited."

[And what idea would that be?]

He explained.

[A Predacon language course as an optional part of basic training, and as a refresher course for field operatives?] repeated Ultra Magnus. [That...it would be difficult, I admit, but it is not an entirely ill-conceived proposal. Some Academies _do_ teach ancient Predacon in conjunction with their cultural courses, but education on their modern dialects are few and far between. I will discuss this with Chromia and a handful of my higher-ranking officers. Should we receive a majority rule I see no reason why this should not take effect. It could ease the tension between the Predacus tribes and the Guard.]

"Thanks. Any word from Predaking about that council meet-up yet, sir? He still in hiatus on it or what?"

[He did inform me that it will have to be within the next four or five lunar cycles. Ammonia ice storms will sweep in from further north and force the Predacons, visiting or native, into the Underworld to escape them. Prey for the hunters will become scarcer.]

That was yet _another_ thing he didn't fully understand. Certain models of Predacons refused to take advantage of the natural springs, pools, and rivers of Energon that flowed across Cybertron, electing instead to obtain their fuel through hunting of non-sentient creatures like scraplets, razorsnakes, and other such wildlife. Literally, free fuel was freaking _right in front of them_ and they basically turned their snouts up at it. He didn't get that. It was _right there_ – why not take advantage of it? He noted the question and stored it away in long-term. Zodiac might know the question to that; from what little he knew of the model from the Hall of Records a lot of Avioids were based on raptor species.

A peculiar image formed in his helm as he thought about that: Zodiac diving after a razorsnake, cleanly terminating it, and flying off.

That image just didn't click. Hard to imagine an introverted, slightly paranoid astronomer as a hunter.

[However, it will take time for word of the meeting to disperse to the other tribes through messenger, and it will take time for the the alpha and their selected envoys to reach their destination depending on how far they are from Iacon.]

Add another question to the list: why did Predacons not use comm. relays like everyone else? Or did they within the tribe and just not outside of it? And for that matter – why did a majority of Predacons not like groundbridges? He knew they didn't owing to interaction with Predaking's Well Guardians, but _why_ did they not like them? That was the real question. Predaking, Darksteel, and Skylynx had used them before and hadn't had any real issue with them. That had never been explained. Groundbridging was the easiest means of traveling long distances on the face of the planet, and they were pretty darned safe.

"Okay. Thanks for the update, chief. Could you keep me posted on the meeting status?"

[So you may keep your mysterious acquaintance informed?] Magnus asked astutely.

Smokescreen laughed a little and admitted that was the case.

"She...doesn't like surprises very much," he clarified humorously, "Trust me on that."

[Very well.]

The line was severed.

And his boredom came roaring back with a vengeance.

He groaned. That was the worst part about being visited in a clinic: when the person left you realized just how bored you'd been before they'd come.

* * *

About four breems passed by uneventfully. During those four breems he had started pacing in a short circuit in the room. At that point, Smokescreen was seriously debating trying to sneak out. In his opinion, he could walk – so he could do at least some basic tasks for the Guard while he was cooped up here. Surely he could help with mission write-ups or something, right? That didn't require him to be out the field.

His thoughts snapped away from boredom on hearing the distinct rhythmic clanking of multiple limbs hitting the ground, accented by light taps. Charity had mentioned a Predacon was an in-patient in the clinic not too long ago. Missing wing on behalf of a scraplet attack if his memory banks served him. Took a while to make a wing, so he had to still be here. Now what was the mech's name...? Rippersnapper? No. That wasn't it. Rip – the name started with Rip. He remembered that. So what...? Riplaw. Yeah, that was it. Ripclaw! He paused in his pacing and turned a curious optic to the hall beyond. As he watched the open doorway a very strange looking Predacon padded by, and that wasn't counting the fact the beast had only one wing. Ripclaw was an odd looking creature for sure. His helm, forepaws, and and upper mantle resembled a predatory avian, his helm bearing a somewhat decorative plume in place of a crest that was at present laid back; from his withers to his croup his body was a lot more reptilian; his back legs more resembled some kind of big, lean cat, and his tail had a feathered plume sort of like Darksteel's. One feathered wing was folded against the beast's side. On his shoulder was the snarling visage of the Well Guardians.

For a moment he just stared. He had no idea what in the name of Primus he was even looking at. Some kind of Fuzor, for sure, but not a true Chimeran like Skylynx.

"Hey!" he called out.

The Predacon squawked and jumped, plume rising. Wide, somewhat suspicious yellow optics appraised him.

"Ripclaw, right?"

The Fuzor blinked. "Yeah." His voice print was harsh and a bit raspy, like a rooster with a sore throat. Iaconian dialect would be hard on such a voice in his opinion. His Kaonian was a bit rusty, but he switched to that instead.

"You okay? No one giving you any problems here?"

Ripclaw noticed the switch in dialect. His plume lowered. Suspicion flashed in his yellow gaze.

"What's it to you, city-dweller?"

"Just asking," Smokescreen insisted calmly, "I know you guys have it rough when you come into the cities. I'm not one of the jerks who hates on your kind for no reason. Push comes to shove you guys are more decent than we are, and a Pit of a lot braver. Predaking said he wasn't gonna help us fight off Unicron's army, and in the end he did – and brought 'Steel and 'Lynx along for the ride. Most 'bots prob'ly would've turned and bailed at the first sight of the horde. Knockout sure as heck tried to."

This statement made the plume rise again. Ripclaw padded into the room.

"You...you battled with Predaking against the _Kogu'ala Bivoto?_ The Chaos-Bringer?"

"Uh, yeah. Pretty much. So did the rest of the team. Arcee, Bulkhead, Wheeljack, 'Bee, Optimus..."

"Strange. Predaking never mentioned you."

Smokescreen snorted, "'Course he wouldn't. He doesn't like me or my Phase Shifter. He thinks using it is cheating and so he views me as an unrepentant little jerk. On his good days he tolerates me. On his bad ones he either yells at me or just ignores me. Honestly, most of my knowledge of Predacons comes from data pads or Mr. Chuckles and Mr. Sourpuss. Y'know. Darksteel and Skylynx. I mostly get along with 'Steel 'cause he's not so much a total downer all the time. Guy actually has a sense of humor."

"Oh," said Ripclaw. "His adjuncts. Yeah, they're chattier with city-dwellers than Predaking usually is."

"So..." the young Elite Guardsmech eyed the Fuzor's bare side curiously. "How'd that happen?"

Ripclaw let out a strange hiss that sounded partly like a jaguar and partly like a really slagging big snake. There was also, very faintly, what sounded like a bird-like keen at the very back of the sound.

"Was out hunting. Tracked a set of razorsnakes and wound up stumbling into a small scraplet nest. Fought 'em off, but not before they'd chewed right through my wing. Walked back to camp. Stormchaser had a look at it, tidied it up. Went about my business as usual until Ser-Ket finally told me to go get it looked at. You?"

"Fell into the Sonic Canyons after a Charger rammed me like a freight train. Somehow didn't die."

Two yellow optics widened.

" _Hyal reltem'tek_. You sure you aren't part Predacon?"

Smokescreen laughed.

"Hey, when I develop the ability to breathe fire, get super senses and a temper – I'll let you know."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah, this is really all I can manage this week. Maybe a "Remembrance" one-shot if I've got some more spare time. So. Busy. Oh, and I also did my two tests today on five hours of sleep. And I actually did really good. On the Art one I only know for sure I might've missed one, and the Psych one wasn't as crazy as I thought it would be. :D So...go me?**


	10. Chapter 9

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: To Catch an Avioid**

Part 9: Talk the Talk

* _Note: In my mind, the Predacon languages are also divided into dialects depending on the general frame build rather than region. They sound a little more smooth, hiss-like, keen-like, or growling depending on frame build. Avioids kind of have a Latin/German type feel to them, Equinines have a more fantasy/elvish feel, Canipids sound a lot more growl-y or whiny as if they have Russian inflections, snake-formers sound like slurred hissing, and so on. Sentence structure for them is also slightly different for each language, but generally largely the same._

 _*Warning: Dialogue heavy._

* * *

Zodiac woke from a particularly restless power down, shaking off the last dregs of a nightmare she could barely remember and feeling as if the whole world was doing barrel rolls around her, spark racing. Sunlight streamed in through the balcony window, and a check of her chronometer showed it to be late morning. She stayed on her perch and did her best not to fall. Her mind instantly began to wander to help better forget the nightmare. That usually helped. That or talking to Lattice, but she worked day shifts so that option was out the window.

On reflection, she'd been busy the other solar cycle, a lot busier than usual. Her productivity, while applauded by most the CERF, concerned Corona and Sunflare. Corona – that femme knew her too well, and so knew that whenever she became a busy little glitch mouse that meant she was trying to distract herself. It was true enough. Being busy was the best way to keep her processor off her troubles. Even though no direct date about the Predacus and High Council meeting had been forwarded to her, that almost made it worse. No date was worse than having a date in the near future. She hated not having some forewarning, time to prepare. Vagueness was her one true fear. Vagueness about a gigantic social meeting...that was just emotional torture.

"Primus, make up your slagging mind you overgrown sparkling," she hissed. "You childish, stubborn, temperamental, indecisive son of a –"

Her personal console beeped, blocking off her colorful flow of language and making her helm jerk a little too quickly. Then it beeped again. And again. And again. Curious, she hooked up to it wirelessly to see what the machine wanted. The Avioid was surprised to find that the beeps were notifications of attempted communications, and they'd actually been happening for longer than she'd been conscious. The former ones were all from Smokescreen, much to her shock and amusement. They even had little text additions to them. She read through them:

 _Hey Zodiac? U up?_

Hm. That one had been from almost a joor ago. Slag that mech was an early riser. Legacy from the War maybe? Or was it just due to his military training and career? Military mechs were still pretty busy even when not out fighting battles.

 _Hello? Knock knock? Anybot home?_

The next message, or rather an entire _ysal_ of them, was just Smokescreen spamming her name constantly for almost an entire breem straight before finally giving up the gig. She laughed.

"Holy...You are either completely desperate for attention or just plain _bored_."

His last message simply read: _Ping me when ur up. Interview plz?_

She stood there staring at the message for a few moments. Her slender brow ridges furrowed.

"Interview? Why the Pit would you want an interview with me? You're not a cultural investigator."

Shaking her helm in bewilderment the Avioid resumed her investigation. The remaining pings, the ones she had heard just now, were all from comm. frequencies she was even more familiar with. Normally they tried to avoid trying to contact her until the afternoon and evening joors so this caught her as a bit peculiar. But on closer examination Zodiac found that, like Smokescreen, they were simple text-based messages – just four of them total. Yeah, that was more like them. And so she opened them.

 _You can do it, sweetspark! We have faith in you!_

– _Skyshine_

 _Let's go ZZ! Let's go!_

– _Fledglings_

That one made her laugh. If someone had come in and read that without knowing the context they would've assumed that meant she should get some recharge or something. She'd never understood why the fledglings liked her so much. She wasn't exactly great with sparklings. Way too hyperactive for her liking, and they didn't seem to quite grasp the concept of "personal space."

 _Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak, Zodiac. You'll ace that meeting. I'll be right there with Skyshine and Nightscream to make sure you do. Challenge one Painter, you challenge us all. Avius folhis._

– _The Artist_

The final one simply read:

 _Itzra j'kes worfuth Æfæn_

Zodiac smiled. She knew which Painter that had come from even without looking at the frequency identification. The Artist was one of the few in the tribe who readily communicated in their language out of spark-pride and a desire to preserve it. What with all the politics going on it was usually simpler to communicate with city-dwellers in the common city dialects. But Predacons would be Predacons she supposed. Each had a pride all their own. At any rate the Predacon language was far from dead, and she liked using it whenever she could. It was just sad that those opportunities weren't exactly common in the cities. Theirs was a tough language to learn and the Council wasn't exactly thrilled about their existence in the first place.

The Avioid came to a decision. She opened up a comm. channel to one of the few city dwellers who would listen to her.

"Hey, Smokescreen? You there?"

[Zodiac! Primus, you're not much of an early bird, are you?]

She stuck her glossa out even though no one was there to see it, "Shut up. I'm an astronomer, wise-aft. We're night owls by default unless we're in things like solar research or radio interferometry or something. Or radiation specialists like Sunny. Can't exactly see stars when the sun's up unless you got a satellite to work with."

[Well, don't you?]

"Sometimes. Right now definitely since I'm still grounded. But I'm also more alert at night. So," she shrugged. "Right now it's mostly satellite feeds and getting data from other planetary scientists out in the field and helping them review it and stuff. Now you've had your curiosity satisfied, you're gonna return the favor. You pinged me earlier and asked for an interview?"

He laughed a little. [Oh, no, no. Not like a professional one like the ones Headline does. I just have a bunch of questions for you. That's all. Language ones. Cultural ones.]

"Eh? Language and culture questions?"

[Yeah! Y'know. About the Predacon language and just Predacon stuff in general.]

She rapidly shuttered her optics. This was certainly a strange start to her solar cycle. And for once she wasn't completely averse to being asked questions by someone she still considered a stranger. Wasn't every solar cycle that a city-dweller in a non-academic position wanted to know about language and culture. Come to think of it, this was probably one of only a handful of times she'd been asked questions about something other than astronomy. Weird, but also strangely refreshing.

"Um...like what for example? I-Is there a reason for this?"

Smokescreen explained his reasoning.

"Why? Why are you doing this? You don't owe my kind anything."

[Let's just say I've fracking _had_ it with the Council's xenophobic racism. Oh! And before we start this off – I had a talk with Awkward Uncle Dragonslayer. Date's still up in the air but he's definitely gonna be there. Jazz'll be there too, along with Warpath and Moonracer and Hotspot and some of the others. Told them a little bit about you; they'll back you up, and in case I can't make it for some reason, I'll transfer 'Bee's frequency to you so you can have him and me on the line. 'Bee's...not high enough on the pecking order to make it into the meeting as a peace-keeper or anything. Which royally sucks.]

"Yeah. You told me. So. Um. Where do you want to start this off exactly?"

[I mean, I know a little bit about the Predacon language but I'm nowhere _near_ to being fluent in it. I just know a couple of phrases, and since not a lot is actually known about the language _because_ of the political xenophobia it's not like I can pop into the Hall of Records or the Academy and just download the information. Those Academy 'bots have to learn it manually before it can be transcribed, and that requires stellar cycles of staying with the tribe and studying them. Anything you can tell me about it that might help me translate some stuff?]

"Um. I dunno. That's kind of a broad question," she admitted slowly, "But in our language there's a structure to it that's...this is gonna sound weird, but it's sort of like Witcher 3 Elvish? The structure seems a little bit off, like with word placement, but when you actually translate it you can transfer the words into your dialect placement pretty easy."

[If I give you an example would you be able to translate it?]

"I-I'll do my best."

[ _Htep lux tlakfo Æfæn, wundin i'ilohem._ ]

She blinked.

"That's Equininonian dialect. Um. Well, the first part I'm pretty sure translates as "May the great light of the Father watch over and mend" and the second part is sort of like an honorary title or name. It doesn't have a direct Iaconian translation but " _wundin_ " means "youth" or "vigor" and " _i'ilohem_ " means "the ones who came before the first." To us that means "forerunners" or "ancestors," which nods to the original Predacon race. In your language that would translate pretty directly to "Prime." The second part literally means "child of the first." So in short it's basically like a blessing or prayer for a speedy recovery, a wish for good luck, and a massive respectful nod all rolled into one."

[Oh? Wow. Scrap. I-I didn't realize that's what Flame-Horn said. Kinda feel a little guilty for not responding.]

"Flame-Horn? Isn't he the head honcho of the Chargers? The same guys that –"

[Body slammed me into the Sonic Canyons, yeah. But that was Trailblazer, not him. Flame-Horn told him not to but it was too late to stop him. He and Trailblazer actually visited me a about five solar cycles ago to apologize for what happened.]

"And what did you say?"

[Told 'em not to worry about it. Accidents happen.]

"Huh. You take getting body slammed into a canyon a lot better than I would."

[Oh! Wait!] Smokescreen interrupted excitedly. [There's another word: _Lyrvin_. Any idea what that one means? I think it's something to do with laws and the legal system, just by the context?]

"That one's easy. _Lyrvin_ is our formal word for a trial, always capitalized in transcriptions. It literally means "to cast judgement." I'm not sure if you know how the Predacon legal system works, but each tribe is in charge of its own members. Should a member commit a crime of any kind they are brought before the highest ranking members of the tribe, along with a small gathering of their closest tribe-mates, in order to have the act reviewed and judged. If the tribe can't make a decision then the 'bot is brought before the Predacus and _they_ make the decision. Usually only really big crimes make it up to the top. Keeps the uppers from being bogged down with little incidents."

[Cool. You said Equinonian dialect though? How many dialects _are_ there in your language?]

"A lot more than you guys have. Different frame models have different dialects to work with their voice boxes. That's why you normally see the same or very similar Predacons in a tribe. One exception would be the Lost Children from Crystal City. They're a hodgepodge of different frame models so they use a single dialect to keep things simple, but it's actually a bit of a mismatch of Draconian, Felian, Canipian, and Hindian dialects. They got it down pat but outsiders understandably have a tough time with it. Academy people are fascinated by it because it's the first hybrid language they've got on record."

[So what does Avioid sound like?] Smokescreen wondered curiously.

"Avian," she corrected humorously, "And it sounds like this: " _Avius folhis._ " That's a real short example of formal Avian, but that's the Sky Painter's motto by the way. Can you guess what it means?"

[I dunno! You tell me. You're the teacher here.]

She smiled and said: "Birds of a feather."

Smokescreen broke out laughing. [Should've guessed!]

"This next example's a little bit personal but I'll share it with you anyway since it's relevant. This would be an example of informal Avian: " _Itzra j'kes worfuth_ _Æfæn_." The Artist just shared that with me this morning. Tells it to me a lot when I'm anxious."

[What's it mean? I know " _Æfæn_ " generally's a reference to an authority figure, a Guardian, or Primus. Which one is it here?]

"The phrase means "A father protects his own." Another translation would be "A father never abandons his child," or something like that. It's just my alpha reminding me that while everybody else might be against the Preds, he and Primus aren't. Even if I'm personally pretty convinced the guy's an all-powerful, benevolent _troll_. Unlike the Council, he...well he hasn't done anything to hurt us is his point. He's actually pretty scrapping chatty with some of us."

Smokescreen laughed as he answered: [D'aaw. That's nice of him to say. I wish _my_ boss was half that nice, slipping me little encouraging memos like that. Closest we Guardsmechs get to that here in Iacon is Jazz and sometimes 'Bee, where they go magnetizing little data-pads to your office or barrack doors with cute personal messages or jokes on them. Your alpha sounds like a pretty cool mech.]

She laughed and agreed. The Artist was probably one of the most amiable alphas of the Predacus. History showed it was a real challenge to ruffle his feathers.

[What do the other languages sound like?]

"Er. Well. Hissite dialect sounds pretty much like you'd expect. There's emphasis on the esra, zell, and other "hiss" glyphs so they're called. Canipian sounds growl-y and a bit bear-like to be honest; scabrous and a teeny bit militant. Translate it and its blunt and to the point, though it honestly depends on which Canipid you talk to. Some are chatty, like the Blue Moons, and some aren't, like the White Hound. Not chatty but he's polite. Draconian sounds a bit reptilian like you'd expect but if you were to translate it it's actually pretty flowery and elegant. Chimerian sounds real similar to it, which is why they can intermingle easier than most other dialects."

[Wow. You are just a little language encyclopedia, aren't you?]

She stuck her glossa out again. "What? Am I not allowed to have hobbies?"

[Nah, 'course you are. Everybot's got a hobby. I guess that's one last question before we move on. What kind of hobbies _do_ you have?]

"Uh. Reading. Games. Talking with NASA or ESA people – they're wonderful by the way. I heard from Neutrino they might name another Mars survey robot or planet hunter satellite after one of the CERF just as thanks for helping them with their Tycho satellite and naming some of the priority planets. I guess another hobby that's just part of the career is planet hopping with the _Bolt_. Earth nerds find an interesting planet, I'm often the ship sent out to go look into it. That's how we found out that creepy planet, TrES-2b, was covered in extremely thick, super-heated clouds made of a mixture of gaseous titanium oxide, scalding potassium and a previously unknown element compound they took to calling Malikithium that's extremely absorbent of photons."

[Wow. I didn't realize you were their go-to gal. That's awesome!]

"Eh, technically it's my _Bolt_ , the Praxian _Solstice Matador,_ the Kaonian _Dauntless,_ and occasionally the Altihexian _Data Junkie_. Just depends on who's available."

[Wait. The Altihexians have a seat on the CERF?] Smokescreen asked. That was news to him. The City of Daredevils had a CERF branch?

The Avioid laughed. "I know it sounds weird but it's true. Don't normally go associating them with scientific endeavors, I know, but it's actually a really good crew. Or so I've heard. Ship name says it all."

[Now that the whole language issue's outta the way, I got some culture questions for you. Is that okay?]

"Fire away I guess," she said. She winced and added: "Sorry for getting on my high horse and getting off topic."

[It's fine. Anyway, my main question is this: why the slag do some Preds use the natural Energon springs and pools and stuff while some only get it through secondary sources like razorsnakes? It's right in front of them for crying out loud!]

Zodiac hemmed for a bit. How to explain this tactfully?

"It's hard to explain because not all Preds share the same views. Generally we're disdainful of laziness. That's half the reason that most of us don't like groundbridges. But as for the energy question – some Pred builds, especially ones based off predatory creatures, think that simply taking Energon without earning it is disrespectful to Primus. Yes, he's offering it to them but they still feel they need to earn it. No pain no gain I guess. Some tribes, like the Sky Painters, are a little more open-minded about it. In some regions there isn't a lot of wildlife for them to hunt, but there might be pools or springs or rivers they can use. That's the case with the Manganese Mountains. Not a lot of razorsnakes or rust hounds or glitch-mice to catch in the mountains when they hole up there during the winter cycle. There are a good number of pools and springs though. So they use those instead with permission from the Xanxorian monks."

[So it's like a religious belief for you guys? Kind of?]

"Kind of," she agreed, "More like a work-spirit belief. Primus might offer us free energy, but unless we feel we've earned it the offer seems a bit...presumptuous and empty, y'know? Outside the city, laziness doesn't usually pay. We Preds don't really _like_ being coddled. Something freely given has no value, at least in our opinions. It's like the old terrestrial downside of communism: if it's free, it's usually poor quality."

[True that. I mean, I wouldn't say spring Energon is bad quality, but I get your point.]

"I'm not a hunter though in case you're wondering. I just...don't like getting my talons dirty. Yech. Most I go after are mecha moths."

[Yeah, I actually had a picture in my helm of you terminating a razorsnake and flying off with it not too long ago. That...didn't click. What do you Avioids hunt anyway? You guys aren't exactly as big as some other models.]

"Depends. Smaller builds like me would hunt glitch-mice or small razorsnakes. Anything bigger would weigh us down and keep us from flying. Larger builds like Skyshine and the Artist can easily take down a rust hound. We refuse to hunt turbo-hawks though; we seen them as kin. If the larger models don't manage to down the whole hound it's usually shared with the smaller builds or the fledglings so scraplets and Scavengebots don't bother us. The fledglings can't manage on prey to begin with, so we also sort of use it to wean them off so speak."

[...I still think the fact you're eating other, semi-sentient creatures is, y'know...disturbing. No offense. Some 'bots keep rust hounds as pets.]

"I know it sounds weird to a city-dweller like you," she said, "but for Predacons it's fairly normal. It's part of our lives, the same way that Macadam's is for you guys. Unfortunately it's also the reason for our demonization by the Council. Y'know – "No civil Cybertronian would go hunting and consuming another semi-sentient creature, blah blah blah." Thing they don't realize is that it's not like we Painters or any Preds go hunting for pleasure or all the time. There just isn't enough prey for that to be an option. We take only what we need, and we waste nothing. Our prey is given the proper respect before termination and after. Unlike the Scavengebots who will gladly attack and consume other fully sentient creatures if they can get away with it. You guys ever deal with them?"

[Not really, no. They usually stay outside the cities, but I've heard from other Guard posts that police precincts have a bit of trouble with Scavengebots going after bodies near the city fringes. Some cops even think a few of them might be working for Thunderhoof or even members of the Council to purposefully destroy evidence. No solid proof for it, but it's a pretty rampant conspiracy idea apparently. That's what 'Bee tells me anyway.]

Zodiac nodded disdainfully with a sour expression. "Wouldn't surprise me if it was true. Scavengebots are opportunists. Sooner or later one or more of 'em is gonna wind up in a cell."

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, um. If that's all...?"

[One more. Kinda silly. Do you guys use comm. channels to communicate between each other only or do you actually use it to communicate between tribes?]

"Some do, most don't. Sky Painters are one of the ones who do use interpersonal comm's but still rely on couriers. How else do you think they'd stay in touch with me from the other side of the planet?"

[Point. Is there some kind of reason why other tribes rely on couriers? Is it to do with that laziness belief?]

"Bingo. Using comm. channels to communicate, while efficient, is also really _lazy_. Couriers actually have to be trained to travel huge distances at a time and train their systems to be more energy efficient. They're constantly on the move, which is why couriers (we Avioids call them "flighties") are usually highly active individuals who get bored, even listless, if they're not message running or generally moving around. They have to be skilled fighters as well in order to fend of attackers of any kind."

[Your couriers sound a lot like War scouts.] Smokescreen observed. [I am also getting very vivid _Fallout: New Vegas_ flashbacks...]

"Because a lot of them double as scouts when not playing courier. The couriers by default will have to go through territory of other tribes. Most tribes are alright with this and the couriers are left well alone – "don't shoot the messenger" after all – but there are tensions between certain tribes and occasionally a courier _will_ be attacked or stopped on the suspicion that they might be carting important information such as attack plans or allegiance tribute. Doesn't happen as much anymore but it is still an issue, unfortunately."

[Okay. I lied about that being the last one. I'm backtracking a bit here – but why exactly do you need permission from the Xanxorian monks to use the Energon springs? I know a little about them. They're generally pretty chill.]

Zodiac explained that while the monks were in fact welcoming of anyone who came to visit or, like the Sky Painters, lodged there during the winter cycles, the Energon was technically on their territory (even though they didn't have "territory" in the same way Predacons did) and taking it without their permission...it felt an awful lot like _stealing_. They were spiritual individuals as well, so that just made the stealing sense that much more pronounced. No Predacon in their right mind would steal from the Xanxorians, or any monastery or temple for that matter.

* * *

Smokescreen had to admit the Avioid was a gold mine in terms of information. Her data gave him a lot to think about.

He had to assume those tensions she mentioned were over resources and territory rather than anything solely political. The fact that Preds despised laziness was interesting and explained a lot. Some of that might even explain why they loathed the Council as much as they did. And the hunting beliefs – he hadn't grasped that Predacons were so civil about killing until now, but it also gave the Council a good route for demonization. Yes, they killed and consumed smaller, semi-sentient or non-sentient creatures, but they weren't violent or crude about it like the Council's propaganda said. They viewed the prey with respect and treated it with honor. Their spiritual views, too, were vastly different than those of city-dwellers. It was kinda funny that they seemed to have a respectful yet almost "rebellious teen" type attitude towards Primus.

To hear that Predacons, Painters especially, held such strong views against stealing was something he might bring up to 'Bee. That wasn't a correlation he'd noticed right away: thieves were usually from city backgrounds. It was rare indeed to find a Predacon in prison for theft. And murder? Even rarer.

[Um...hello?] Zodiac asked.

He started out his thoughts. "Sorry. Got lost in my own helm for a klik there."

[I-Is that all you wanted to ask me?]

"I think so, yeah. And thanks for answering. I honestly wasn't sure if you would."

[Hey, it's not like I got much else to do, do I?] the Avioid joked dryly. [Ground a bird and she's bound to get bored at some point. Nice to get my helm out of the stars for once and start talking about more down-to-ground things like language and culture.]

He smiled. "Glad I could help, then. Talk to you later?"

[Sure. Take care...and don't go causing trouble for the clinic. I know you're bored but leave the medics alone. They're just trying to help.]

Smokescreen stuck out his own glossa at that.

"You're no fun." he said, and he severed the line.

* * *

 **Phew! Man. Lot's o' world building here.**


	11. Chapter 10

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 10: Guardian Angel

* _More of a focus on Charity's life.'Bee will be getting another bit to himself next._

* * *

Tension pervaded the room. The Predacon on the table, a small wingless Draconian the color of a pale afternoon sky, bore a dozen gashes caused by illegal bladed weapons. One pale yellow optic bore a spider-webbing crack. A massive dent in his chassis prevented easy air cycling, and a faint wheeze occurred with every intake. His tail, which had once borne a spear-tip, now bore nothing more than a stub – hacked off according to the eyewitness who stood beyond the door. He'd promised to give a full statement once the little Draconian was stable and taken care of, even though he _really_ shouldn't have been out there on the streets to start with. But if not for him this little drakeling might've been left for dead in that Talon-Quarter alley, nutrition for the retro-rats or the Scavengebots.

He'd disobeyed orders...but he'd saved a life in the process. Sometimes 'bots did the wrong thing for the right reason. And apparently he'd stumbled across the drakeling by accident while driving around in the Talon Quarter. Unfortunately he hadn't seen the culprits; just the aftermath of the attack.

' _Who would do this?_ '

Her mind couldn't compute such needless violence against another. Mini-cons in general were more delicate than their larger brethren, be they Predacon or city-dweller. But this was a child, not a mini-con. There was no justifiable reason to assault a small Predacon and leave them for dead in an alley, just as there was no justifiable reason to do the same to a vehicle-former.

With a slight shake of her helm she moved the ion torch towards his anterior regions. The little drakeling issued a whining hiss when the ion torch hit one of his forelimbs. His tail whipped instinctively, nearly grazing the red mech's mesh as he struggled against the pain. The senior medic stood back, unwilling to risk his finish. The femme medic gave the mini-con beast a gentle stroke and hushed him. He stilled, but the whining continued. He sounded less like a dragon and more like a wounded turbo-fox or rust hound.

"You'll be okay, sweet-spark..." she murmured softly. "Shh. You're safe here. It's okay..."

The question rang again in her mind:

' _Who would do this?_ '

Hard on that came another.

' _Why?_ '

She just...couldn't understand.

* * *

 _Earlier_

Smokescreen had officially had it with being cooped up in the clinic. For Primus's sake he was fine! And _still_ neither Knockout nor Charity would let him off the leash! At this rate he had half a mind to just walk out of here regardless of whether or not they gave him the all clear. He needed to get back out there!

He strode for the door, determined. Screw the official order. Yeah! He'd _prove_ he was fit for active duty. Then they'd finally let him out.

The door hissed open and he promptly cannoned into Bumblebee.

"Ah. You were trying to break out again, weren't you?" joked the bright yellow mech.

"N-No..." Smokescreen half-sparkedly lied, dropping his gaze. He blinked, met the other mech's optics, and his pauldrons sagged. "Yes..."

"Guess you didn't learn anything from the _last_ time you tried to bust out."

The Elite Guardsmech argued back, "Can't keep me in here if they can't catch me."

Bumblebee was quick to smack a hand to his forehelm, rolling his optics in the process. He had to give him kudos for pig-headed persistence. This was his third attempt in the span of a deca-cycle. His brains department was looking in need of a tune up. Apparently he was choosing to ignore the fact there were speedy emergency responders and quick-footed Predacons milling around in the building who could _easily_ catch him. They'd done so every other time.

"Mech, are you trying to get yourself chained down to that berth? Has the stir-crazies finally gotten you?"

He playfully rapped on the other mech's helm as if to test if it were suddenly hollow. Smokescreen grabbed the limb and shoved it aside.

"I'm serious here, 'Bee! All those reports you've been bringing me show that Pred/City tensions are getting worse and Contrail and Saber are stoking the fires so the conservatives keep them in power. The Preds are being patient with these attacks, but it's only a matter of time before the explosion takes place. I know thanks to Trailblazer that once you've got their fires good and pumped they'll lash out without even thinking about it. I can't just sit here and write up reports when I'm well enough to be out there on patrol and helping stop attacks like the ones you've told me about. If the Guard can show the Preds were not their enemy by curbing these incidents..."

Bumblebee blinked once. One brow ridge rose. "You've never been this focused on the Pred issue before."

"That was because I got saved by some that tried to kill me and befriended one who's head honcho on her own survey ship, and she could probably hold a nerd conversation with Perceptor as easy as blinking. Everyone thinks they're just big wild animals _because the 'bots who have that opinion have never actually met one._ It's kind of hard to keep a dumb opinion like that when you meet a little geek Avioid who's scared to death of social interaction. Even harder when the guy who slammed you into the Canyons comes up to you and formally apologizes. Pit, I always thought 'Cons were just instant bad guys until I met the navigator for the _Intervention_ – _he's_ a 'Con and he's totally cool."

"Don't judge a book by it's cover, huh?"

"Exactly."

The two mechs shared a look.

"'Bee. Come on. Please. I just need a chance to get back on the streets. Just for a while. Half a joor, tops."

The yellow mech's brow ridge rose again. He knew from experience with him that even the simplest act with Smokescreen could implode on him at a moment's notice, and he had a rather unfortunate trend of attracting trouble. His own desire to help (and his tendency to give in to petty revenge like he had with Vince) often led him to walk straight into a mess.

"Please."

"...Don't you dare pull the puppy face on me. Smoke – Smoke, no."

Smokescreen's desperate look had morphed into the most pitiful puppy-dog face he could possibly muster. Bumblebee swore under his breath. It wasn't even a puppy-dog face after a split second – it was his trademark "I'm an innocent angel, don't you trust me?" look. He always did this. And the sad part was that he had yet to be able to resist it like June. He'd heard from Moonracer that he'd used it on Magnus once and it had actually slagging worked. It was terrifying sometimes how good he was at emotional coercion.

He sighed. "Fine! Fine. I'll help smuggle you out. But if we get caught it was _your_ idea and it's _your_ fault. _Not_ mine."

"Deal. You don't even need to smuggle me out. All _you_ need to do is get my Phase Shifter. I heard they're keeping it in one of the back storage rooms. Last time I tried getting in some Harian guy jumped me. Pun fully intended."

Sighing again, the former scout left the room. He was going against the orders of Smokescreen's superior and his care givers so his friend could potentially get himself in trouble just because he was stir-crazy and bored. Because, y'know, _that_ totally wouldn't get him in trouble with own boss: aiding the escape of a patient in a clinic who was still on medical leave. Oh, yeah. No trouble _at all_...

"You owe me for this," he muttered. "You owe me _so_ much..."

* * *

Out in the halls, some in-patient Predacons wandered around as easily as if this clinic was their home territory. Some even gave him little tilts of the helm in greeting or else let out a noise of greeting. An exceptionally tall mech with what looked like a feathered headdress who looked like he belonged in the ritual chamber of an old Mayan temple strolled along beside a lean vehicle-former who bore some nasty chemical burns on her chassis and arms. The taller mech was speaking with her animatedly over, from the snippets of conversation he overheard, chemistry. The femme seemed enraptured in the conversation, intelligently answering back.

The former scout shook his helm in amazement.

Every time Bumblebee had come in here he had admitted himself astonished by the sheer variety in frame models – and the incredible fact that none of the vehicle-formers in the clinic ever gave the beasts trouble, or vice versa. It was like the clinic was an unofficial neutral zone for both parties. Heck, maybe that was in the rules for the place: no being jerks to each other. They were all in here to recuperate from wounds (some of them for quite some time, like Smokescreen) so they might as well get along and get to know each other in the interim.

He'd had the suspicion for some time now that this place was intended as a model of what society could be if 'bots got over their xenophobia. Pretty clever idea. Clinics as a concept were supposed to be even ground owing to the Triage Code, but only a handful interpreted the Code as literally (and liberally) as was done here. 'Cons were always rebels he supposed.

' _As are some 'bots I know..._ '

Primus, Smokescreen owed him a _big_ favor for going along with this.

A Harian with an ear looking suspiciously chewed at bounded by (he had to wonder if this was the same Harian who had jumped Smokescreen) and was followed by a Hopper pseudo-beast who looked well enough to be out of the clinic. Only when the latter bounced past did he spot the savage claw marks on its backstrut. Somebody had obviously gotten into a spat of some kind, or else had been ambushed for whatever reason. He'd heard from Arcee that Hoppers were nomadic pseudo-beasts skilled at trading that mainly worked out of the city of Vizanthus, but this was the first time he'd seen one in person. Odd looking little guys, but kinda cute too – like mechanical kangaroo rats, tail plume, long legs, and all.

Checking that no one was watching (and keeping an optic on the security camera looking down on from the top of the wall) Bumblebee slipped around the corner and into the hall where the storage bays were.

"Ok. If I were Knockout, where would I store a Phase Shifter...?" he mused softly.

He checked the plaques by the doors, reading them off to himself.

"Medical tools...Chemicals...Energon – medical grade; duh...Hard records...spare parts...Confiscated goods."

The mech grinned. Knockout had never been one for subtlety.

"Confiscated goods it is then."

He slipped inside, surprised to find the door unguarded by any kind of security measure. The room itself wasn't large by any means and was mainly filled with labeled crates, boxes, and industrial-strength but sheque shelves, all of which lined the walls. There was enough room to move and grab what one needed, but not room for much else. The place sort of reminded him of a large broom closet – small, a bit cramped, but well organized. His optics scanned the labeled crates, boxes, and shelves. He was mildly surprised that almost all of them contained non-integrated weaponry such as pistols, shotguns, mortars, and on. There were even a few crates that, judging by their labels, held energy shield projectors. Well, he had to give credit where credit was due: Knockout and his subordinates certainly weren't taking any chances when it came to armaments. But all of this told him he was probably in the right place. Though not a weapon in the literal sense, the Phase Shifter had seen some pretty extensive combat-related use on Earth. Honestly it was more of a tool, but with Smokescreen trying to pull a fast one on him he couldn't exactly blame him for keeping the thing away from him.

He checked a few more of the smaller boxes until he found one labeled as "Obnoxious Idiot" that had recently been crossed out and replaced with "Elite Guard Lieutenant Smokescreen" by someone else in neat, semi-calligraphic writing. To him, the writing looked distinctly feminine. Charity's? He'd had a couple of quick chats with her; pleasant, sweet young femme.

A smirk formed. He had a feeling he'd found what he was looking for.

Checking the door, he grabbed the box and put a hand on the sensor. It hissed open. Inside sat the inconspicuous little white and silver device he and Arcee had found in the subways of New York. He still felt he was doing the wrong thing by taking it, but...well, there no going back now. Smokescreen had agreed he would be the one to take the fall. And so he took the device out of the crate, stowed it in a subspace compartment on his hip, and slipped back out of the bay. A Geckoid clinging to the walls (and whose color-morphing ability seemed broken, considering he was black against a white background) spotted him, but a friendly, disarming wave made him scurry off.

Feeling home free, he made his way back to the room his friend was staying in. That had gone better than he'd thought, really.

* * *

Smokescreen paced to and fro impatiently. In hindsight, asking 'Bee to legitimately steal something for him might've been asking a little too much all things considered. Some on the Council still didn't like him very much, and even some in law enforcement. No one much trusted members of Team Prime, considering them outliers and potential threats to the establishment. One Councilor, Ratbat, had once called them "too loyal." What in the heck was wrong with being loyal to the guy who saved your aft time after time? Who had tried and tried and tried to get the two opposing sides to come to terms, only to meet his end right when Megatron called an end to the War? What was wrong in sharing and believing in his ideals and _not_ being okay with the fact that all his hard work was seeming to amount to nothing thanks to the Council?

Funny thing was, the Council hadn't been all that bad to start with. Slow, but they'd gotten stuff done. Contrail, Ratbat, and Star Saber had been less progressive than their associates and a little more xenophobic, but they hadn't tried to to stonewall virtually every socially progressive idea that passed the Council's way. Something had...changed with them. He hadn't brought it up because it – well, it might make him sound like some crazy conspiracy theorist. 'Bots did change, after all. Some more than others. It was just...odd. Weird. Strange.

' _I'll make it up to him._ ' he decided without a second thought. ' _I better be okay by the time that meet up rolls around..._ '

He started and whirled when a familiar field reached out.

"So?" he prompted.

The former scout came further into the room and hit the panel to shut the doors. A moment later – out came the Phase Shifter.

Smokescreen let his jaw drop.

"You better make my theft worth it."

A fierce grin.

"I will. I owe you a big favor, too."

"Alright. So what are you standing around for?"

Both mechs whirred to find Knockout lounging against the door frame. Neither of them had even heard the door open. There was a smirk on his lip-plates that spoke of schemes and devilry.

"Well? Get going. I can't keep my underlings away from here forever, you know. There was a wreck a few klicks away but they'll be back soon."

The two mechs shared a glance. Smokescreen shrugged. Hey, if the guy in charge was willing to help with the great escape he wasn't gonna argue with him.

"Guess I owe you a favor, too."

Knockout snorted. He said unless he was any good with medical training to help with the clinic or skilled at body work to help at the shop he ran, he couldn't really do much for him.

"Thanks anyway, Red," said Smokescreen. "I mean it. Seriously."

The red medic merely winked.

As Knockout and Bumblebee watched, Smokescreen activated the device on his wrist. The device shone faintly, and the mech turned and melted into the walls as easily as he were himself a specter. The room was thus left with two occupants. Bumblebee glanced to the side to snap at Knockout for helping with this in the first place, but the red medic's expression was that of a mind deep in thought.

"Hmm. I wonder if that's why the Preds who visited called him _Ftzolm't qera li O'elqal_ – the Phantom of the Old Hall. Interesting they word it like that..."

Bumblebee honestly didn't know how to answer that, but something about it rang as unusual to him. Mirroring Smokescreen's own shrug, Bumblebee left the room. He'd figure out what was unusual about the phrase; he just needed some time to think. He thought best when on patrol in the city, and his next shift was coming up soon. Never hurt to get any early start when your superior tended to be the kind to sneer at you for being an astrosecond late to report for duty.

* * *

 _Freedom!_

Smokescreen stood on the walkway a block beyond the clinic. He simply enjoyed the warmth of the sun streaming down, the buzz and roar of the traffic, and the light north east breeze. He really did believe he'd chosen the best solar cycle to break out of the doghouse – and succeed at it. He hadn't expected to help out with that but slagged if he was complaining.

Grinning to himself, he started off.

He stuck to the walkways at first, optics roving for any familiar faces or unwanted trouble. A thought struck him as he passed by a business that specialized in body art: maybe he could pay a surprise visit to Zodiac's place. All he had to do was ask. He needed to check in with her anyway, see how she was doing. Two birds with one stone like the humans said. Actually, that probably wasn't the best comparison to use come to think of it...

A hand went to his audial and a line was opened. There was silence for a while, and then the call went through. He swore he distinctly heard music coming from the background, and a quick diagnostic showed it was not interference. Terran from the sound of it. But it quickly cut off. He kept moving.

"Hey, 'Zee? You there?"

[Smokescreen? Oh! Um. Hi.]

"I didn't call at a bad time, did I?"

[N-no...] said Zodiac. [I was just, um, practicing. Why? Something happen? You hear from Predaking or somebody?]

"No," he reassured her with a touch of annoyance, "Now, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but...where do you live?"

The voice that answered back was suddenly hesitant and suspicious: [...Why?]

"Just an innocent question. Nothing to it."

But Zodiac wasn't convinced.

[...You're up to something.]

Smokescreen laughed, "No I'm not."

[Yes, you are. You are way too chipper. Every other time you've called me you've sounded pretty normal or else annoyed, exasperated, tired, curious, or confused. Ergo, you must've done something you're pleased about to result in the shift in mood and, by correlation, your tone of voice.]

His laugh died abruptly.

"Anyone ever tell you you're completely and utterly _terrifying_ when you analyze people like scientific specimens? You may not be good at in-person social skills but you're scary good at analyzing from a distance."

[So I'm right. You're up to something. Seeing as you're pleased, you've probably already done the thing you were going to do. What did you do?]

Well, lying got you nowhere with the inherently mistrusting. All that did was reinforce their beliefs that they couldn't place trust in others.

"Okay, I may or may not have busted out of the clinic to stretch my wheels for a bit..."

[ _Smokescreen!_ ] Zodiac said in a strange wailing moan, [Are you frackin' kidding me right now?! What did I tell you about causing tr–?!]

"But I made a promise I'd be right back. I won't even be out for a half joor. I just need to get out in the open air. You're an Avioid. You can understand that, right? The need for open space?]

He heard the astronomer sigh on the other end. He could almost imagine her pinching the nasal of her helm the same way Ratchet did when he was at his wit's end.

[Just because I understand _doesn't_ mean I support your actions. I'm expecting you to stick to that promise of yours and sincerely apologize to the medics when you get back.]

"I will, I will. I promise."

[Okay. Do that, and I'll answer your question. Deal?]

"Deal."

He put the line to idle but didn't sever it. Another surprise had been revealed about Zodiac: she was a stickler for the rules and didn't much care for those who disobeyed orders. That revealed her as someone who didn't like rocking the boat. She was shy; that made sense. Rocking the boat meant unwanted attention. Obeying the rules, you tended to blend in with the crowd.

He rounded a corner and, finding an opening in the traffic, joined the flow of vehicles. He drove for a while, keeping around the city center but carefully avoiding the territory of the Elite Guard headquarters.

"You still nervous about the meeting?"

[Duh. The longer they put it off the more nervous I'm gonna get. I'd go to Predaking and tell him off myself but...he's scary. And he could really use some anger management counseling or something.]

Smokescreen forced himself to snort back laughter, "Yeah, well – I doubt your the only Pred who thinks that. Hey! Since I'm out of the clinic I could go talk to him for you! How's that sound?"

[You'd...do that?] Disbelief rang in her voice..

"Sure. I got time to kill. Half a joor, remember? I just gotta hope 'His Highness' is in a good mood today."

[Okay. Just don't hurt yourself. No rushing.]

Happy to have a goal in mind, he pulled onto a side street to loop around. The quickest way to the Well Guardians' territory was to go on the south thoroughfare, which would also take him through the Talon Quarter – a section of the city set aside for Predacon habitation. It wasn't exactly the best part of the city, but it was far from being Polyhex's ghettos. There'd been some trouble there lately according to 'Bee: assaults, robbery, graffiti bearing ugly messages. Thankfully no one had been killed. He might as well check that out, too.

* * *

 _TALON QUARTER, IACON_

Vehicle-formers as a rule tried to avoid the Talon Quarter as much as possible. What with all the beasts roaming, slinking, and flying around many deemed the place dangerous. Smokescreen had never understood why. Thanks to some interaction with some Well Guardians, Zodiac, and the Chargers he knew you were only really in danger around a Predacon if you severely offended them. Give them the respect they wanted and you might as well be in the absolute safest part of Iacon. His chat with Zodiac had revealed that the beasts disdained criminals, thieves and murderers in particular. In fact, 'bots who came in here to give them trouble were in serious danger of being harmed.

He slowed his pace as he rolled in. Vehicle-formers weren't a common sight here and he didn't want to set anyone off. A few Preds eyed him but most either gave him a quick over or else ignored him altogether. He kept driving, falling into a patrol pattern of "line-riding." Place seemed pretty peaceful right now; no commotions. One Predacon even gave him a nod. He flared his field with glyphs for greeting in return, but kept it subdued. For Preds, a strongly flared field meant the 'bot was issuing a challenge. As he drew towards the outer reaches of the Quarter where city met the eastern quadrant of Iacon his scanners blared red. He screeched to a sudden stop. An energy hot-spot blinked to life, in an alleyway nearby. Quickly he transformed and darted off the open streets. On further analyzing the hot-spot his spark skipped a pulse.

Spilled Energon. Quite a bit of it. And he had the sinking feeling this wasn't the spilled fuel of a retro-rat or glitch mouse.

The mech wove through some alleys and side-streets, peering into others in a desperate search. It took only a breem to find the place he was looking for, where the Talon Quarter met the edge of the actual city. On the floor of the alley ahead of him was the entrance to an old War tunnel that hadn't been sealed well, within which emanated a distinct but faint baby blue glow. He drew up to it and ducked inside.

And didn't hold in the gasp at what he saw laying prone on the floor inside.

It was a little wingless Draconian colored pale and electric blue, optics shuttered. His body bore dents and gashes, but his worst injury by far was located on his tail – the weaponized tip most Draconians had looked like it had been _cut off_. A scan showed his spark to be emitting energy patterns and strength only seen in sparklings. Horror suffused his spark at that point. What really struck a nerve was that whoever had done this had carved _Dtzlocan_ onto the little thing's side and had put what looked eerily like a muzzle over his snout.

Danger. Some sick son of a rust bucket had attacked a baby Predacon and carved the word "danger" onto its side after hacking off its tail-tip and muzzling it. Someone had _tortured_ a _child_.

"Oh, scrap. Oh, scrap, scrap, _scrap!_ "

He rushed forward. The kid was still online, thank Primus. He didn't have any medical tools on him but he knew for a fact who did.

A line was opened to the clinic he'd just recently escaped from.

"Knockout?! Answer me! Now!"

* * *

" _Knockout?! Answer me! Now!_ "

The shout that invaded the red medic's processor made him jump – and that jump ruined the fined detail paint work he was doing on himself. He snarled and tossed the can of paint against the wall of the shop. His anger subsided once he was able to register the sheer panic in the voice, as well as whose voice it was.

"Smokescreen? What in the name of the Primes is the matter?"

" _I'll explain when you get here. I'm transmitting coordinates now. Get your flashy metal butt over here or a kid's gonna kick the bucket!_ "

Knockout found himself rendered speechless at that. His medical training kicked in and took over. He contacted his apprentice. Out of all his employees, she had the most training with children.

"Charity? Get your kit."

" _Yes, sir._ "

* * *

Smokescreen remained by the sparkling's side, looming over it like one of its mighty kin but unable to do much else. His blue gaze peered deeper into the tunnels in the hope of spotting evidence of who had done this or even the perpetrator themselves, but he could detect nothing. The aft had probably fled long before he'd gotten here, and with the kid tucked away in a place like this fellow Preds weren't likely to stumble across them. He wondered if the kid even had any Guardians to care for him.

A low growl made him tense and look back towards the tunnel entrance. Looming there like a black sentinel was a large, lean Panthron with black leathery wings. Its audials were pinned back aggressively, and its fangs were visibly bared. On one shoulder was the crest of the Tigerhawks.

"This isn't what it looks like," he insisted calmly, "I found him here. I called in for help. They'll be here any klik."

The Panthron's aggression didn't die down. It stalked forward with another growl, claws retracting. Smokescreen's hand went to the Phase Shifter. This was about the worst situation he could possibly be in. Predacons were fiercely protective of their young, far more than any vehicle-former could ever be.

"Easy. Easy...I'm not the enemy here. I didn't do this."

"How do I know you speak the truth?" snarled the Panthron in an odd accent that reminded him of Rafael's mother.

Just when it looked like the nameless beast would pounce a groundbridge roared open between the two opposing warriors. Knockout emerged first, followed by Charity. The Panthron peeped its helm around to investigate only to halt upon spotting the two healers. It drew back, suddenly contrite. But that reaction was mild when compared to the nurse's.

"Oh, great Primus..." Charity gasped in horror. Her hands flew to her mouth. She rushed forward and removed the muzzle as gently as she could. "We need to get him back to the clinic."

"We need to stop the leaking first," insisted the senior medic calmly but firmly, "and get some of his fuel replaced. He won't stabilize otherwise. He'll also need nanites to boost the ones already in his system. At his age, the ones he has in his system are nowhere near strong enough to deal with damage like this."

"Will mine suffice?" wondered the Panthron in his unusual accent. "I will not allow a child to die before he has seen his first _tveta_ line carved in the Well."

Knockout nodded and said that would do. He motioned for the winged Panthron to approach as he pulled out a short length of tubing from his own kit about as long as his arm, either end porting a sub-mesh injector. He was grateful a Predacon was here, as a few studies had proven Predacon nanites reacted negatively to those of vehicle-formers due to their differing coding, and there was a looming risk of the nanites not accepting the new host code and going after their nanites and other bio-mechanisms. But no medical procedure was without its risks.

As Charity began to seal the worst of the breaches, the Panthron curled up around the sparkling like a big mother cat. And so he hooked one end into the Panthron volunteer and the other into the beaten sparkling, beginning the transfusion.

The big Felioid didn't even wince, putting his helm atop the child's chassis and letting out an extremely low frequency purr, so low he could only just hear it. Knockout understood this as an effort to both comfort and heal – something about the frequency and the amplitude of Felioid purrs "convinced" nanites to work a little harder.

"Almost done," he said. "We don't need to give him a lot."

"Mm," the Felioid grunted. "Give him what he needs to live. I can hunt afterwards to replenish."

Silence enveloped the tunnel for a moment. Then, wordlessly, Knockout carefully disconnected the transfusion cable. The winged Panthron's purrs ceased, and he rose. His gait was a bit unsteady from the drop in fuel levels but he soon recovered.

"Thank you," said Charity. "I don't believe you gave us your name?"

"Nox. Felias Nox."

Charity smile weakly. "Thank you again, Felias. We were lucky you decided to follow Smokescreen. But we need to get him to our clinic now. Is that okay?"

"Do what you must, healers. I will see if I can locate who did this for you, though I make no promises to turn them over to your authorities. If I find them within our district, they are under our laws."

Felias Nox thus slunk out of the tunnel and into the light of day. Charity gently scooped up the drakeling and made her way into the groundbridge with Knockout and Smokescreen trailing behind her.

* * *

Smokescreen waited outside the room where the sparkling was being treated, worried and upset. He'd stopped counting the kliks after two breems had gone by.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and let his helm hang down. He refused to look at the shut door, scared that if someone came out they'd be bearing bad news. The kid's condition when they'd brought him in didn't seem very good. You didn't need to be a trained medic to know someone was really in deep in the injury department – to say nothing of the psyche scars that attack would bring.

A kid. Some...some _monster_ had attacked and tortured a kid. And the twisted part was that whoever had done this would probably never dream of doing this to a "regular" sparkling.

He kind of hopped Felias Nox found the sicko and gave him a piece of his mind or did the exact same thing to them. But he recognized that as wishful thinking. Predacons had a legal system they abided by, and if the culprit was caught in the Talon Quarter they'd be tried as a Pred, because legally that place was Predacon territory. Predaking had seen to that soon after the Reconstruction had begun.

The door hissed open to permit Knockout. He nodded.

"Kid's gonna make it."

Smokescreen heaved a relieved sigh.

"Good. We got a name for him?"

"Our Tigerhawk friend Felias actually comm'ed in and said he'd discovered the kid's a Foundling tunnel-rat. No legal Guardians, but he's fairly well known by a few business owners in the Quarter. Say his name's Horizion. If not for you finding him that kid might've died. Not a lot of Preds stick near the Quarter borders because of the trouble they get. Guess it's a _good_ thing you decided to break out today."

The Elite Guardsmech looked at the open door. Charity was finishing up buffing the carved word off his mesh with a gentle touch, humming softly to the drakeling. He thought he recognized the tune, but unlike last time there were no lyrics to go by. Horizion looked to have slipped into power down, and his air cycling was far steadier.

"Yeah..." he said quietly, "Yeah, I guess so. But, uh...sorry for busting out. I know that was against the rules."

Knockout smirked.

"No need for apologies today, _mon frère._ Saving a life never constitutes an apology."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Buh! I feel so unproductive right now. Blame the insomnia attacks. They're getting worse as the new year approaches. They always do this. It sucks.**


	12. Chapter 11

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 11: Sisi Ni Sawa

* _Note: Sisi Ni Sawa song belongs to Disney. I just really, really, really want to use it here. :3 It's such a good message, and the song is goddamn catchy. Funny thing with Sky Painters_ – _they don't fight with beaks and claws. They have a more refined manner of solving disputes and getting their points across... ;)_

 _It's finally here_ – _the big meet-up between the Councils! We are in for one crazy ride here folks! O: (Yes, I know I said 'Bee would get this chapter, but let's get this outta the way first. I've been puttin' it off long enough! Let's get some political progress made here to make up for the idiots that be in my country decided to repeal every good thing ever passed in the past eight years!_

 _*Went to the Houston Women's March in January! :D That was so much fun! There were something like 23,000 people there, women and men. It was NUTS! O.O It was peaceful, no one got hurt, no one got arrested, and drivers were even honking at us from the road and waving and egging us on! :D I only stayed for the speeches and march and stuff, but apparently there was a massive dance party outside city hall where the march ended. XD God, I love Houston._

 _*Warning: Long chapter._

 _EDIT: Decided to do some rewriting._

* * *

IACON OBSERVATORY FOR STELLAR RESEARCH  
88 KLICKS OUTSIDE IACON'S OUTER RING  
BLUE LASER CAFE  
TIME: 2200 HOURS

Corona sat and listened with her fellow CERF members to the arguments being made by the Avioid sitting across from them. One of them was actually a crew-mate from the speaker's vessel and was there acting as a speaking guide: Jackdaw. Perched atop the building were fellow Painters Skyshine and Nightscream. All of them were smiling and trying not to laugh at points, because the femme was more "coherent ranting" to them than "coherent arguing," and she certainly wasn't afraid to use profanities. She had to admit that when she wanted to she could _really_ talk. Only the occasional stammer or stumble betrayed how nervous the femme really was inside. But this strategy of desensitizing they'd been doing for almost three deca-cycles now seemed to be working. They'd started out with just Corona at first, but each time they'd done this speech practice they had added another close friend to the audience.

"Ah, ah." Jackdaw interrupted quickly in his suave voice, "You're rushing again, cap'n. You're a musician. Just like songs there's always a tempo to speech. You can go _allegretto_ at points, when you're trying to display an anger or suchlike but trys to keep it steady as much as you can. Faster you speak, the harder it is to enunciate. And with _i'tzocl_ like Star Saber up there ready to grill you, you want to be as clear as possible so he can't twist your words, 'cause you bloody well know he'll try."

Zodiac nodded: "Right. Sorry. Just...nervous about tomorrow."

"That's expected," Jackdaw said. "Carry on, then. But remember: tempo and enunciate. Pit, I'll even act as a metronome for you if you'd like. That's what Terran musicians use to keep the beat when playing and composing, right?"

Her optics rolled. "I don't deserve you," she joked. Jackdaw was too good for her. She still had no idea how she'd managed to get him on her crew when first starting out as a captain. He was much older than her and had far more experience, and yet he'd joined up with a status quo-breaker Avioid who'd manage to get herself a prototype survey ship right out of the Crystal City docks.

Jackdaw merely smiled back. "I don't deserve a Sky Painter as a commanding officer, but I'm not about to argue my good fortune. Come on. No stalling, cap'n. Meeting's tomorrow, remember? Practice makes perfect so the humans say."

She shuddered but endeavored to put a brave face on it. Better it were tomorrow so she could get it over with. Maybe then she'd get some decent power down for the first time since this whole progressive meet-up thing had been conceived. The whole thing was exciting yet terrifying at the same time, like that rush a flier got during First Flight's preliminary free-fall – you were scared scrapless at the thought of failing and turning into a metal pancake but the feeling itself was exhilarating.

* * *

Neutrino had to admit that as she continued her argument that she looked buzzed yet exhausted at the same time. He had to ask himself: how many solid joors had she gotten lately? For someone who manned a star-ship of her own she was dangerously susceptible to stress. That didn't bring into account her bad habit of biting off more than she could chew, which led to overworking and even more stress.

Corona just had to hope all this practice would be enough. Come tomorrow, the real performance would begin.

* * *

IACON'S OUTER RING  
TIME: 3200 HOURS

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Unable to power down, Zodiac sat at her personal console tapping a stylus on the desk. She wanted to give one of her crew a call and just talk to them but she honestly didn't even know what to say to them. The ramifications of the political arena weren't their _forte._ Pit, Jackdaw was the only one who had any degree of experience with it, and that was mostly because 'bots with political or spiritual views tended to take offense with his constant questioning of pretty much everything. Plus, she felt a bit guilty for interrupting their shore leave.

"To call or not to call. That is the question..." she murmured.

Confident as she was about this whole thing the femme wanted to cover all her bases. She believed what Jackdaw had warned her about concerning Star Saber: the _i'tzocl_ would try to twist her words around to make her sound like the villain of the story. How else could someone as bigoted as he have gotten into political office in the first place? Honestly it was a bit under-handed, but she did in fact have some kind of...call it _leverage_ against that outcome. It wasn't blackmail per say, but something that shared a bed with it. Neutrino was the creator of that contingency should worse come to worse, but the particle physicist had said he'd rather avoid using it for the trouble it could cause – not to mention it could very well get him thrown in a cell. If he used it his career might as well go down the drainage pipe. He hadn't said exactly what it was though.

She finally made her decision. The Avioid pulled up the comm. frequency of a certain crew member who was a notorious night owl and pinged her. She needed someone to talk to.

"Shatterveil?" she prompted.

A tab popped up on the console. In the darkened room on the other end sat a dismal looking femme colored deep grey-blue and silver, little strips of white light providing the only easy means of picking out her bat-like features. Bright green optics shone through the shadows, green beacons in the black.

" _The star-watcher rings at the war-moon's rising;_

 _the currents stir,_

 _the people gather_

 _as policy-writers work_

 _on devising_

 _a tactic to fracture or fetter._

 _But uncertainty shimmers like wisps on water_

 _Does star-watcher call to have it dispelled?_ "

Zodiac blinked. Thank Onyx her time as a Sky Painter rendered it easy (well easi _er_ ) to interpret verse.

"No, not really," she said. "Just...wanted to talk and not, y'know, bother anyone. Didn't think anyone else would be up so late at night. You're the only one on my crew who's nocturnal, but I wasn't sure you'd answer and I hope I'm not bothering you. I do have a question though."

" _Ask then, but know_

 _the answer you seek may not be common_

 _by this night's warden or persimmon-winged gossip._ "

"I just want to know: is Neutrino bluffing about his contingency or is he actually serious? Has Hearsay heard anything about some kind of special project he's been working on?'"

Shatterveil didn't answer right away, her expression reflective. Instead she rose and left the room, returning shortly with her minuscule helper Hearsay perched on her shoulder. The little Insectoid mini-con fluttered over to the desk where the console was and cheerfully tapped the screen, antennae waving around. Smiling, Zodiac waved back. Most 'bots were stunned to know that someone this dangerously cute was a shameless but well-meaning scandalmonger. He had a thick romance with the phrases "just happened to overhear this" or "a little turbo-hawk told me that."

"So, you hear anything?"

"Well," Hearsay started, leaning in closer. "I've not heard anything _directly_ so don't go quoting me in a court of law or nothing, but I _did_ overhear some of the satellite-builders at the IO talking about a special project. Didn't hear the names of those involved so it _might_ be something completely different, but the fact they've managed to keep it so on the DL means they don't want anyone else hearing about it who's _not_ involved with the IO. Maybe the Council? They sure as the Pit don't like it when 'bots go off the books like that."

"So you really think that special project has political implications."

The Insectoid nodded. "With it so far on the DL that yours truly can't get more than a few peeps? Oooh, you betcha."

"You hear any details? What is it?"

He shrugged and said: "No name, no specs. But they were talkin' about it all quiet-like. I did overhear ' _beam_ ' and ' _Council_ ' though. _Someone_ on the CERF, naming no names, certainly is willing to play dirty if that means what I think it means."

Zodiac's optics went round. That sounded like Neutrino had – but there was no way someone like him would stoop _that_ low...was there?

"I may need to have a talk with Neutrino about this. I don't want him getting fired on anyone's behalf, especially not mine. I-I know he _means_ well but...this is taking it a little too far. That kind of thing can have serious legal repercussions."

Shatterveil mused aloud:

" _The lines between color are blurred_

 _in the twilight hour._

 _Black and White are as separate_

 _as the bound;_

 _Turbulent Grey reigns over the battling halves_

 _as Ethics drowns_

 _on a stormy path._ "

Zodiac cast her a withering look. "...I hate you."

The bat-looking femme returned with a wry smile. She said nothing. Her captain was not one for playing truant from the rule book. Neutrino obviously was. _She_ may not approve of what the particle physicist was doing, but Shatterveil had to admit to herself that the mech had courage to go through with such a risky strategy. Not many scientists were in a position to openly threaten or coerce the High Council.

" _Has clarity been given_

 _where clouds once hovered?_

 _Or are more answers in need_

 _of being uncovered?_ "

Zodiac nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, yeah – you answered what I needed answered. Sorry for bothering you so late at night, Shakespeare. You, too, Fuzzy."

"Oh, it's fine!" Hearsay interjected in his merry voice. "You know 'veil and I are night owls, boss. Part of our coding. It's no biggie."

She smiled a little at that. She'd been worried she might've been bothering the nocturnal duo. They liked their privacy even if they enjoyed visits.

"Good luck tomorrow though," Hearsay encouraged with a returning smile of his own, "We _Bolties_ are all rootin' for ya. Rampart and Sirocco are already planning a party on the _Bolt_ for when you score one over the Council."

Twin royal blue optics rolled, partnered with a sighing groan. "You guys are _way_ too optimistic about this. But...tell 'em that's sweet of 'em."

"Will do, boss."

Another optic roll. "And stop calling me boss, Fuzzy. We've been over this. It's either 'captain' or just 'Zodiac,' alright?"

Hearsay smiled and giggled.

Leaning forward, she hit a holo-key and ended the call. A hush fell over the astronomer's quarters, one she had come to dread. She longed for the purring hum of the _Bolt_ 's power core over the dull rush of the outer ring. Mostly though she longed for the stellar chorus that pervaded deep space. Here, on the ground, below the atmosphere, their songs were nothing more than a faint tintinnabulation tainted by suspended molecules. She was tired of the artificial noises on the surface. Some of those sounds were comforting come certain solar cycles, like the thrumming chug of the planet itself, or the engines of Seekers and fliers. But they weren't _musical_ the same way the stars were. The astronomer desired music from the universe – to hear the orchestra of the stars.

"No offense to you though..." she muttered almost on impulse, glancing at the floor.

She thought she heard a low rumbling in reply, but she wasn't sure.

Sighing, she flitted over to her perch and tried to power down. Big solar cycle tomorrow; might as well rest up while she could.

ONE KLICK OUTSIDE IACON HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER

TIME: 1145 HOURS

The city below her bustled with more life than she thought it could possibly contain. Any moment now she felt the city might burst at the seams. And that was terrifying in its own right. Never had she seen Iacon so crammed full of 'bots – and she paid attention to the city's ebb and flow of people the same way a hunter paid attention to prey population. How in the name of Onyx Prime, she wondered, was the Elite Guard managing to keep the peace? There were far more civilians than Guardsmechs. They had to be stretched pretty thin even with their numbers.

Ahead, the Council Hall's dome glimmered a pale translucent silver. Fellow flying Predacons were circling or else perched on its minarets, but they were vastly outnumbers by the jets, planes, and helicopters circling, eager scraplets hungry for video feed of Predacus alphas and city Councilors in dispute – or else a fight on the Hall's steps. Guardsmechs and femmes were on duty at various points around the Hall, and she'd spotted some in the streets. She hadn't seen Smokescreen though. Those medics really weren't taking any chances with him it seemed. He had apparently managed to sneak out not too long ago though, and had managed to save a little tunnel-rat drakeling from dying alone after being tortured.

Her fuel had boiled at that. Who in the Pit was sick enough to attack a kid? He'd said he didn't know, but he, some Guard members, and a Tigerhawk were looking into it.

She found a street light a few streets away and took up a perch, hooking the metal book-bag's strap under one claw. 'Bots and beasts passed by beneath her, some looking at her curiously or with a touch of wariness. Some didn't even seem to notice her, which was fine by her. There were no friendly faceplates that she recognized, but most of the Predacus reps were probably nearer the building. There was still some time before the meeting to review her notes, so she sunk her beak into the book-bag and pulled out the tiny datapad. Balancing, she used her other leg to hold up. She read through the tips Jackdaw and her IO colleagues had been dishing out:

 _*Tempo. No rushing._

 _*No cursing. Tempting, but don't. Be civil about this. Prove their misconceptions wrong._ (She made a face at that one)

* _Enunciate. Make your words clear!_

 _*Remember to_ –

The datapad suddenly flew sideways as a piece of metal struck it like a bullet. She looked around wildly for the firer, looking to port in time for a Seeker to knock her off her perch with a startled squawk. Her form hit ground with a thud that made her side ache. A heavier thud followed to reveal a Seeker mech looming over her, field flaring in pride and disgust. A snort from somewhere nearby made her look to see a pure white Equinine with a burning horn watching the event unfold, a tribal crest of a flaming, charging horse on his shoulder. The fires on his mane and tail burned brighter in anger.

A Charger. Oh, frack. This could only end badly. Those beasts didn't mess around.

"Aw. What's the matter little birdy?" the Seeker, a mech, taunted. "Lost your balance? Wind knock you down?"

She rose, transformed, and glared at him. "I'm not looking for trouble. Please go away." Her voice came out quiet, not at all infused with the calm threat she'd aimed for.

His _y'tla_ flared. "What? You think if you just ask nicely I'll give you what you want?" He smirked. "You Preds think you're sooo high and mighty, don't chu? _I_ think you need a reminder about who's really in charge in this city..."

His tone was not something she liked. A subspace pocket was opened and out came a thick bundle of titanium cabling. She needed to get out of here, closer to the Council building where those Guardsmechs and femmes were. But she couldn't move. She was too scared – scared of the Seeker and what he might do her, but also scared that instinct would take over and she would lash out in defense. Her optics almost didn't register the white Equinine charge forward. But she definitely registered him rearing back just behind the Seeker with a frightening, hellish cry that was both whiny and bellow at once, brazen hooves kicking, horn ablaze.

" _AWAY!_ " he bellowed in his own primal language. " _AWAY!_ "

The Seeker whirled in a flash, startled. The blazing beast bucked and kicked and shook his helm around him in a display of warning and fury, trying to make himself look as big and bad and intimidating as possible. A kick of the brazen hooves came dangerously close to the Seeker's helm, and he stumbled back instinctively, tripping over his own heel struts. He fell ingloriously. But the Equinine wasn't done. Rearing back one final time, he put his hooves out and brought them down –

The Seeker's mouth gaped open with his optics, his frame frightened into the same immobility that had just afflicted her. He and his victim could only watch as those hooves came slamming down.

NO! she wanted to scream. He was going to crush him!

But there came no crush of warping, dented metal. There was only the resonating clangor of twin hooves striking the ground like thunder mere _i'qxa_ away from the Seeker's frame. The Charger leaned in, horn ablaze, and snorted smoke and ember. Frightened beyond reason, the Seeker scrambled to his trods and hastily retreated, the Charger snorting and chasing him for good measure. Within only a klik or so he was gone, vanished over the roof of a building. Satisfied, the white Charger turned away and came over to her, bowing his helm whilst dimming his many fires.

" _You are well, little_ _paintbrush?_ " he wondered in a voice far gentler than the one he had used moments ago, " _Unharmed?_ "

The Avioid could do little but nod. Her vocalizer refused to work. Pit, she was still trying to process what in the name of Onyx had just _happened_. She'd never had someone act like that to her before. To top that, Predacons usually looked out for their own tribe mates only; no further unless there was a formal alliance of tribal alphas. As far as she could remember, the Painters and the Chargers weren't buddy-buddy. No formal alliance. What reason did the Charger have to assist a Painter?

The Charger nodded.

" _Good. But permit me to offer you an escort to the Council Hall, little paintbrush. To be alone at a time like this can invite trouble, and the Hall is better guarded than the streets. Better to be inside with more friendly optics than out with fewer. We can report this to the sentries there._ "

Her voice box kicked back into gear at that. She thanked him but stayed where she was. Apparently amused, the Charger trotted over and plucked the datapad and the book-bag from he ground, returning to her side and pushing both items on her with a soft snort. Her hand reached out and took one, then the other without thought. What was it with hitting and book-bags and nice guys lately? It was starting to get uncanny. When she didn't move right away he knelt down and plucked her off the ground, carrying her like a Tigerhawk might carry a kit.

"Thank you..." she managed to squeak, "but I can walk. I-If it's all the same to you..."

He let her down, and together they headed for the Council Hall. The Guardsmechs at the open doors nodded and let them pass.

* * *

Though the meeting was scheduled for 1200 hours, it took a few breems longer for everyone to arrive and fill the vast circular hearing room. Even then it was delayed what with the general babel and commotion of dozens of individuals from all over the planet. The noise and the numbers was overwhelming. This was the largest official gathering she had ever been to, and she wasn't sure she was such a fan of it. At the very least the Guardsmechs and femmes were keeping things under control. Above, the reporters not let in continued to circle like Scavengebots.

Zodiac bade a retreat towards the Lost Children's alpha, Farleap where the Artist, Skyshine, and Nightscream were standing. The blade-horn snorted and stamped a hoof in greeting before letting her take up residence on his great antlers. It didn't help by much, but she at least had a better view of the hall and everyone in it. At his side, Clouddancer issued a low hiss and shook her helm, looking and feeling about as cramped as she felt. Her titanic wingspan wasn't making things easy on her, modifications aside. If she could get away with being on the roof she probably would.

A Guardsmech, tall and sturdy and colored dark blue and burgundy (with some stylish pale seafoam accents the Avioid quite liked) came up and handed the Iaconian femme Councilor a datapad. Sharing nods, the mech retreated and took up a post off to one side of the chamber with another Guardsmech. She felt she recognized him but she wasn't sure. She was terrible with names and faceplates.

"Settle down, everyone! Please!" Elita-One implored. "We'll get down the business at hand now. Ultra Magnus and the Elite Guard have confirmed every representative's presence, so we'll forge ahead as planned."

Her optics snapped wide and her helm jerked over towards the mech who had delivered the datapad. So _that_ was Awkward Uncle Dragonslayer! Huh. Smokescreen hadn't been kidding in describing him as a bad-aft. Perfect military posture, expressionless faceplates, but he still looked like he could wail on someone if they caused trouble. Smokescreen _had_ said he'd earned that nickname for repeatedly giving Predaking a bashing way back when. Definitely someone with the strength of the mountains.

"I don't even see why we're bothering with these brutes..." Star Saber grumbled.

Instantly a fraction of the beasts turned on him and issued noises of warning and anger.

"Star Saber, I'll ask you to please keep your personal biases and contempt in check," Avalon cautioned. "We're here to compromise, not start a fight."

"A decision made in anger is never sound," Councilor Rhinox advised Star Saber in his low, resonating baritone, "as evidenced by _your_ presence here, Councilor..."

The face Star Saber made at that caused some badly stifled snickers and snorts. Rhinox merely smiled back with his ever-placid expression. She thought she heard one of the Guardsmechs behind her group mutter " _Buurrn..._ " She officially liked Rhinox – and whoever that Guard was. It was made even better by some rebel-youth of a Councilor laughing aloud when Star Saber sputtered, trying to retort through his offense, but failed.

"What's tha matta, pretty 'bot? Cyber-cat got cher glossa?" he roared in mirth. "Or should I say a Rhinox?"

He devolved into laughter at that point, banging his hand on the table. Councilor Elita-One and some of the other progressives had to hide their smiles. She'd heard stories about Screwloose and his personality through Vignette, but to see him in person was another thing altogether. That hysterical laughter made it seem like he really did have a screw or two loose up top, but his progressive policies concerning Predacons and pseudo-beasts showed an intelligent, kind-sparked mech. He cared about those who lived in his city, no matter what they happened to look like.

"Sorry, sorry," Screwloose excused himself. He snorted then: "Pfft. Who'm I kidding? Not sorry. But let's get this ball rolling along, yeah? Let's hear what they have to say. A Pred's voice is no less important than a 'bot's. They got voices. Let 'em use 'em."

Thundering agreement swept through the ranks of the beasts in the hall, applause not withstanding. Star Saber's faceplates were less than pleased but a glare from a great snowy Seeker across from him kept any retort bottled. Jetfire towered over the other Councilors in the hall so when he gave you any attention, good or bad, you kind of had to listen.

"Speak up then, Predacus!" said Blare of the Sonic Canyons in her megaphone voice. "We assembled to listen to ya'll. Tell us yer concerns."

The hall went silent as Predaking and Ser-Ket stepped to the fore. As the Predacus's supreme leaders they outranked all others gathered, and thus they were to speak first.

"We come here to argue your discrimination of our kind," Predaking growled. "We inhabit the same world as you, emerged from the same Well, yet many treat us as inferior. Many city-dwellers refuse to employ us, our easiest employment outside of Altihex (he nodded to Screwloose) and Kaon (he nodded to Contrail and Ratbat) being trackers for police precincts. One of my charges has only recently managed to find employment in a rescue squadron within Iacon, and even then he faces scrutiny a city-dweller would not be subject to. We are here to argue against discrimination in the city-based workplace, excluding Kaon and Altihex, and that is but one of our grievances. We have much to offer, and yet you deny us the chance to prove so."

"You realize the irony of your statement I hope," Star Saber mocked. "It is difficult to find employment, yet you have easy access to employment. Besides, what do you even do with city-based currency? Eat it?"

Predaking's _y'tla_ flared. He snapped that just because a job was easy to access did not mean it paid well, and they were no less discriminatory in nature. He asked him to name one Predacon who had obtained a permanent position in a precinct that went beyond that of a simple tracker. Star Saber tried to cite Altihex, but Screwloose cut him off, saying his city was the exception to many Predacon problems and _not_ to be used as a general example. They were here to look at the bigger picture, not blindfold themselves, point digits at him, and pretend there wasn't problem. That earned him more thundering cheers from the Predacus. They quieted on their own.

Ser-Ket intervened and said they used such currency for access to medical supplies, while some cities demanded an entry fee of all things of Predacons.

"The fees are not absurd, Councilor Ser-Ket," said Blitzwing. "It helps the city gain a small side-income for public vorks projects."

"Just 'cause it's got good intent don't make it ethical," Blare snapped. "If you're gonna fee someone for comin' in, you gotta apply it to all newcomers, not just Preds. That's segregation if I ever saw it. I admit I had my own...issues with Predacons in the Canyons, but that was a trust and legal issue. We got that squared away alright after the incident on the Edge. They're welcome s'long as they stick to the rules everyone else sticks to."

A murmur of agreement swept over some of the Council and Predacus.

"They attacked your people and you let them in? Just like that?" Cointoss spat.

"The Chargers 'attacked' because they felt Blare's people would not agree to their terms," Jetfire retorted. "Which they did not. We are all under the pre-conceived idea that they aren't as harsh on their own kind when it comes to crimes or misbehavior. That simply isn't true. Take note that Predacon criminals are a rarity in every sense."

"The _xoctocl'ezt kt'or_ strictly forbids criminal behavior, and punishment rises sharply depending on the deed itself. Any with a basic knowledge of their structure would know that. Or have none of attended a cultural seminar in Kalis?" wondered Beachcomber, aiming his question at the likes of Star Saber and his ilk. "If not, I will advise it. Educate yourselves before you blindly sling accusations around. Predacons are welcome in my city; I haven't had a single issue with them to date."

Star Saber harrumphed. The beasts were dangerous. Was he really the only one here who could see that?

* * *

Smokescreen was riveted to the holo-display in the lobby of the clinic. Jazz was even kind enough to funnel direct audial feed from the meeting, in the process keeping him informed on how Zodiac was faring. So far, she seemed to be alright. No one had called on her to speak just yet, she hadn't flipped out or anything about the crowd, but this meeting might last a while considering how stubborn some Councilors tended to be on racial matters.

He shot a glance at the door to see the Najoid mech named Virulance stride out, transform to a great feathered serpent, and rise up into the skies. Envy shot through him. He felt fine, for crying out loud! Why couldn't he go out? He wanted to get a word in edgewise.

Or...wait a klik...

There was no medic around...

The door was just over there...

A smirk formed. He turned away from the display and strolled over to the door. He had almost reached the threshold when he heard an engine not unlike Arcee's rev up from behind him somewhere. Astroseconds later he felt slender hands grab hold of his audials. She dragged him away from the sliding doors, Smokescreen protesting as loud as he could. Primus, for a dainty looking femme like her she had one heck of a vice grip!

"OW! Charity! Come on! Lemme out already! I'm dying in here!"

"We've already agreed you'll be free to leave tomorrow," she said as she guided him back to the main foyer, "You can wait another few joors. That impatience needs to be curbed or it could wind up digging your grave."

"OW! Ow! Okay! Now let go of my audial, would you?!"

She released him, apologizing. As she returned down the corridor she'd come in by Smokescreen couldn't help looking at her with an increased respect. That sweetness was only half of who she was. The other half was a _heck_ of a lot firmer. Geez. She was actually a little bit terrifying now.

* * *

"Prowl? You've abstained an opinion thus far," noted Rhinox. "What are your thoughts?"

The Praxian Councilor remained silent for almost half a breem as his blue gaze swept around the assembly, almost like he was looking for something.

"Predacons have been helpful to precincts in my city on numerous occasions, though in the past I was hesitant to permit them, " he admitted, "and because of the concluding reports I believe the idea that they are savages is untrue. There has not been one instance of a Predacon committing a crime or heckling a civilian. One cold case stellar cycles ago might have been solved if a Predacon had been allowed to assist. But merely working in one field is hampering their talents. They are no less intelligent than we are. Correct me if I err, but there is a Predacon astronomer and ship captain currently present, and she's made valuable contributions to her specific field."

Zodiac wanted to smack Farleap for gently bucking and snorting to earn Prowl's attention. He caught the movement and gestured, "Ah, yes. There. Captain Zodiac. Planetary scientist at the Iacon Observatory."

"H-Hi...?" she squeaked.

"Never a finer pilot, if ya ask me," Neutrino vouched. "Saved my crew's aft not too long ago during our Hydrax mission. We of the CERF are just here to ask if you'll consider letting Predacon fliers – Tigerhawks, Painters, Draconians, Chimerans, you name 'em – into the CERF as pilots. Pit, just let Preds of all variety in while you're at it. They have intelligence, they have talent. Let 'em use those things. If you give 'em the chance to prove they're not mindless savages, they will."

"No chance, no proof," a Harian mech added.

Star Saber snorted. A glare from Dustdevil, Vizanthus's Councilor, silenced him.

Corona argued with some heat in her voice, "Ask anyone in the IO and they'll tell you she's a helpful femme. She enjoys running errands for colleagues. She's _not_ a vicious monster. All she wants to do is help and do her work in peace. And she's managed that. She's never given anyone any trouble, no one has ever given her any trouble."

"But in the latter case she's one of the lucky ones," Sunflare pointed out. "My friend Darter couldn't make it for personal reasons, but she's heckled almost on a deca-cycle basis, and she's just one of many. I'm not sure if you've heard this one, but not too long ago a sparkling Draconian, a tunnel-rat, was found by an Elite Guardsmech in the Talon Quarter, muzzled, maimed, and tortured. It's not just verbal abuse they deal with – it's physical too. Just look at cities like the Tagan Heights, where such crimes are commonplace."

"I protest!" Star Saber shrieked. "They are not commonplace! Watch your tone, young mech!"

"I reviewed the report," droned Shockwave, "Owing to the sparkling's adverse reactions upon sighting Seekers it is logical to assume his attacker was a Seeker."

"The Elite Guard is presently investigating," Ultra Magnus clipped at the former Decepticon scientist, "and we are receiving aid from an eyewitness after-the-fact. When we find the one responsible you can rest assured their act will not go without severe penalty."

"This has to _stop_ ," Neutrino growled. "They're no less 'bots than we are. They don't deserve this kind of callousness."

"And vhat would you have us do about it?" Blitzwing wondered. "Ve merely create the laws. Ve cannot enforce them ourselves. That is the task of local law enforcement."

"Then here's a suggestion: _condemn that sort of behavior_ ," Farleap rumbled. "If such attacks happened in our society we would disarm the _tvraad'aar_ and brand them before exiling them. Imprisonment alone is not enough to convince the attackers to stop."

"See!" Star Saber cried. "This is what I've been talking about all along! Their methods are extreme and –"

"And they work," Predaking snarled. "We suffer no repeat offenders. Can your society say the same?"

"I refuse to accept such barbarity into our society! The Talon Quarter decision was bad enough!"

"There have been no reports of Predacons causing Iaconians any harm in or out of the Talon Quarter," Elita-One reminded him curtly. "In fact, any problems they suffer are from Iaconians themselves."

"Would you deny facts?" Neutrino spat. "If you don't change your tone, I have just the thing to change the tune you're singing."

"Are you threatening me?" Star Saber wondered, shocked.

"Not unless you and any closet or open xenophobes change your tone and start accepting that your 'facts' are incorrect. If you don't, then yes – I'm threatening you. Got a satellite in orbit that the IO launched in secret armed with a gamma beam aimed dead center on this building. In short, the CERF is holding all of you hostage unless you play nice for once."

Every pair of optics on the Council riveted on the particle physicist, and nearly all of them widened in shock.

"You've got bearings, Neutrino," Contrail rasped. "I'll give you that much."

"I don't think that'll be necessary, Neutrino," Corona whispered. "Threats are beneath a scientist."

Zodiac, uncomfortable, lifted her hand up as if she were back in an Academy class.

"Em, excuse me," she squeaked. "Can I get a word in? And just so you know, I didn't approve this."

Elita-One and Ser-Ket conceded together.

"Look, I know some of you guys think we're savages or cannibals or dumb or whatever, but we're not. You think you're higher up the totem pole because you're not based on an animal. According to your mythology and belief system you were based on the designs of the Thirteen. Learned that in my cultural history class. Newsflash: _so were we_. Learned that from Tarot, our _Æ'vit_. You were based on the frames of beings like Vector, and Solus, and Micronous – Primes all. _So were we_. Onyx Prime, the Lord of the Beasts, is our common ancestor, the reason our kind exists. Actually, if any of you bothered to remember your origins you would know that if not for Onyx, _none of you would even be_ _here._ He surrendered himself to the core at the beginning and aided Primus in forging our entire race, beast and 'bot alike."

She hopped off Farleap's antlers and flew towards the front, alighting on the helm of Darksteel. The entire hall had gone quieter than a tomb.

"The Autobot rally cry during the War was 'Till all are One.' I have a better one for this dispute: _Sisi ni sawa_. It's an old Terran phrase that means 'We're the same.' We _are_ the same. Both our races come from the same place, both our races are based on one or more of the Firstforged. Why is that so hard to accept?" She laughed nervously. "Race isn't even a _thing_ if you think about it. Just because we look different and have different cultures doesn't make us any different from each other."

Something amazing and unplanned happened then. Sunflare switched on his speakers and a bouncy guitar tune danced around the hall. Winking, he handed the floor to Nightscream and Skyshine, and impress they did. Their respective voices rang out over the assembled:

" _You got to look past what you see,_

 _try not to judge so easily._

 _Believe it or not, you're a lot like me._

 _Say believe it or not you're a lot like me!_

 _Sisi ni sawa means we're the same!_

"I'm hearin' what you're saying, but you need to explain!" Sunflare requested in a voice that made the Artist look at him in admiration. It could use a little tone work but it was an excellent voice.

" _At the end of the day it's like water in the rain!_

 _Sisi ni sawa we are the same!_ "

Screwloose was practically dancing in his seat to the beat already. Star Saber seemed flabbergasted at this impromptu performance, but most of the other Councilors seemed fascinated by it. It certainly was a unique manner of getting a point across.

" _Maybe I laugh, maybe you purr,_

 _but take a look under the fur._

 _Deep in our hearts is what matters for sure!_

 _'Cause we all know a higher call_

 _like every creature big and small:_

 _the circle of life should be what's guiding us all._

 _The circle of life will guide us all!_

 _Sisi ni sawa means we're the same!_

A beast broke in then, a companion to the Chargers' alpha, apparently knowing the old lyrics: "Though you've got your claws and I have a mane!" He bucked and his flaming mane danced. He, too, had a surprisingly good voice.

Nightscream laughed. Exactly! she said.

" _At the end of the day it's like water in the rain._

 _Sisi ni sawa we are the same!_ "

"Never thought that we'd see eye-to-eye!" Sunflare joked.

Nightscream laughed again.

" _I can't imagine why!_

 _It's very easy if you try-y!_ "

"Still, to me, that brand new thought, not to judge hyenas by their spots!"

" _Sisi ni sawa!_ "

Skyshine took over for a brief lull: " _Sisi ni sawa means we're the same._ "

"Forget about the past when there's nothin' to gain..." Screwloose sang.

Both Painters gave cries of joy and swept over to him. The rest of the Predacus roared agreement.

" _At the end of the day it's like water in the rain._

 _Sisi ni sawa we are the same!_ "

The Altihexian Councilor forwent his seat and joined the Painters, singing himself:

" _Sisi ni sawa means we're the same! (Oooh!)_

 _Forget about the past when there's nothin' to gain! (Ooooh!)_

 _At the end of the day it's like water in the rain._

 _Sisi ni sawa we are the same!_ "

A Tigerhawk high-pawed with a smaller Harian and added their own voices. "Sisi ni sawa we are the same!"

Zodiac, enjoying the song far too much, finished with her voice:

" _Sisi ni sawa we are the same..._ "

A thundering cheer rang out, hooves and paws stomped on the ground in a bestial display of applause. A majority of the Councilors were moved to applause of their own. Screwloose gave a bow and returned to his seat, grinning like he'd just gotten the opportunity to fire Star Saber right out of his city.

"And the point of that was...?" wondered Contrail.

"Sight without optics..." Rhinox sighed, shaking his helm.

"Regardless of their performance, I must admit they have a point with their wording," conceded Prowl. "Judging an entire race based on outdated beliefs and misunderstandings is an ineffective model for ra – (he stopped himself) inter-species relations."

"Hear, hear!" chimed Dustdevil, Beachcomber, Beltway, Rhinox, and Avalon.

"They make a scientific argument as well," Shockwave noted in his emotionless drone of a voice. "Knockout and I together have conducted many studies on Predacons since the Well was reactivated at the end of the War. We found something that might startle any conservatives here: their sparks are no different than our own. The waveform and energy output is nearly the exact same as with any vehicle-former. We are no less beast as they are mech or femme. It is illogical to base one's conclusions on only one or two points of data. Such narrow-mindedness leads to inaccurate conclusions. All variables must be accounted for."

"Are you suggesting," Star Saber sputtered, "that we _actually agree_ to their terms? They're a threat to society as we know it!"

"How?" retorted Zodiac. "Name five ways, Mr. Know-It-All. Go. Prove you're smarter than someone who obtained a professional's mark in astronomy."

"I-I, well – you hunt other life-forms on this planet! Who's to say you won't one solar cycle come after us?!"

"Are you serious?" Ser-Ket hissed. "Is that how ignorant you are?! We do your kind a favor by hunting what you call 'vermin!' If not for us your precious cities would be overrun!"

"Councilor Star Saber, be intelligent for once I beg of you," the Artist chided. "We are extremely careful about what we hunt. If it displays sentience we wouldn't dare come within five klicks of it. I repeat, we do _not_ hunt _anything_ that is fully sentient. Our race is more evolved than our precursors in the Rust Age. Hunter builds do not cannibalize other sentient beings for the fuel we need to survive, nor do we solely rely on prey to live."

"Not all of us hunt, either," Flame-Horn added in. "Builds like Equinines, Harians, and Blade-Horns rely on the same springs and rivers that city-dwellers do. We lack the necessary fangs and claws that hunter-builds employ to hunt. Would you label us cannibals as well?"

"A solid point, Flame-Horn," Beltway said. "One often overlooked."

"And your society is violent!" continued the Tagan Councilor. "Predaking admitted it just now! If a 'bot so much as _looks_ at a beast the wrong way they –"

Tigatron, alpha of the Tigerhawks, snarled and made his own point. The noble beast code was simple in regards to interaction. Respect was a two way street: get into the wrong lane and you'd get plowed over by oncoming traffic. They respected their city-dweller cousins whenever they interacted with them. They did not instigate trouble; they only reacted if someone else struck first. Stand-offs like with the Chargers near the Canyons were flukes in the grand scheme of the code, and that instance had been out of desperation, not a lack of respect. They had only attacked because they had felt they were out of options. Flame-Horn and his younger followers snorted and bucked agreement.

"So you openly admit your kind have harmed us," Cointoss hissed. "Not exactly an argument based in innocence, is it?"

"I'm sorry," Nightflame growled. "How would _you_ feel if _your_ secretary was shut in a prison for an accident? We Chargers are nomads, _sir_. We rarely come into the cities and so we know little about city laws. At any rate, Fireflight hadn't meant harm! He was just looking for a medical dispensary for one of our wounded! So what if he wandered onto private property? The appropriate response would have been to issue a warning, not put him in a cell!"

Blitzwing murmured something and a Wrangler nearest the front of the hall hissed and bared his fangs, jerking forward in a feigning lunge. A lean young Guardsmech colored yellow, orange, and silver darted forward to intervene before things could get ugly between the two. The Wrangler stood down with bad grace, coiling back up.

"I agree, my officers could have behaved better about that," Blare admitted. "I was unaware of that until the stand-off, and the officers who did the deed are on administrative leave in Kalis, taking cultural courses focusing on Predacons. I'd prefer if that didn't happen again."

"At leassst you are ssssensible about thissss, Counccccilor Blare," said the Wrangler alpha, Constrictor.

Blare nodded.

"I think the Predacus has made their point," said Elita-One, raising her voice. "They want to be treated as equal citizens and have the same opportunities that we enjoy within our cities. Any criminal behavior against them is to be condemned – same as with crimes city-dwellers commit. The CERF in particular desires them as members of their organization. I see no problem whatsoever with those proposals myself. Altihex, Kalis, and Kaon have seen firsthand the benefits of allowing Predacons within their borders, and the Talon Quarter here in Iacon is a hub of culture that is studied by Kalian students. Is that right?"

"I'd also request that pseudo-beasts be treated with better civility as well," Zodiac pointed out. "As half-beasts they suffer a social limbo. My entire crew are pseudos and they had almost as tough a time getting into their positions as I did, and again – they're no different than anyone else. The fact they're neither fully beast and neither fully 'bot actually gives them a bit of an advantage: they have the abilities and partial appearance of Predacons, but the freedom to take what form they wish. No offense, but what in the heck is with some of you 'bots and this association of animal-frames being bad or whatever? Where did that outdated idea even _come_ from?"

Silence met that remark. Contrail and Ratbat looked uncomfortable.

"Avalon? What do you think? Does this sound reasonable to you?" Dustdevil wondered.

Avalon shook his helm and said he saw no problems either. To his mind it was a sensible request put off for far too long.

Progress was like a mag-lev rail, Rhinox rumbled: you could alter the schedule, you in-put delays, but sooner or later the rail would start again.

"All in favor of the proposition?" Elita-One prompted.

Multiple hands rose: hers, Avalon's, Rhinox's, Beltway's, Beachcomber's, Dustdevil's, Jetfire's, Blare's, Shockwave's, and even normally neutral Prowl's. Screwloose's was by far held the highest.

"And all opposed?"

Cointoss, Blitzwing's, Contrail's, and Star Saber's.

That only left Ratbat's vote, his hand remaining down on both counts. Right now they were just one away from the critical eighty-percent needed. His vote would determine success or failure. For almost a breem he did nothing, and he seemed to enjoy the suspense in which he was holding two entire governing bodies in. Neutrino frowned and lifted one hand to his right audial in warning. The little mini-con mech leaned forward. Then, he said:

"Ah, what the Pit. I agree. Keeping these guys out of the workforce is bad for business; we're losing out on a big market here. Besides, as a half-beast I do feel a little for their plight and those of half beasts like me. Emphasis on a little."

Those words echoed twice in the chamber. There was dead silence for a moment as those life-changing words were processed. A great rumble rose then, transforming into a cacophonous, booming roar of cheers, hoots, hollers, and paw-and-hoof pounding approval. Chargers reared back and whinnied. Draconians gaped wide their maws and roared. Avioids let loose audial-splitting keens. Even the Elite Guardsmechs on duty couldn't help themselves and joined in, swept up in the charged energy that buzzed throughout the hall. One of them, a silvery mech with a blue visor shielding his optics, grinned and began pumping a fist into the air, chanting:

"Yes we did! Yes we did!"

The beasts took up the chant. The dome practically trembled under the force of their joined voices.

" _ **YES WE DID! YES WE DID!**_ "

And that was the cue for the reporters to swarm in from their posts on the fringes.

* * *

[ _SMOKE! WE DID IT!_ ] came the ecstatic, boyish shriek.

Smokescreen couldn't help laughing even as his audials rang from the sheer volume of her voice. He'd never heard her this happy before, even when talking about her field, but it was a hard-earned happiness. After sitting on the sidelines for stellar cycles on end in many cases, Predacons were finally allowed to join in the race. Now Star Saber had a real thorn in his side – one that wasn't going to get taken out.

"I saw! I even saw that song you guys did! That was so cool! I didn't think you'd be brave enough to even speak up, much less sing! Cool way to get an argument across!"

[Once a Sky Painter, always a Sky Painter! Even if I don't show it much. Just 'cause I don't like performing doesn't mean I don't have their affinity for music.]

He laughed again. True that.

"What are you gonna do now?"

[Half-tempted to actually let a reporter interview me, but I also gotta head over to the docks where the _Bolt_ is. Sirocco and some of my _Bolties_ said they'd have a victory party when we won.]

"Victory party?" he repeated in surprise.

Unconsciously his gaze flicked over to where Charity was busy walking around and analyzing reports. On hearing him say that her jade optics jerked up to look at him. One slender brow ridge rose as if she were daring him to try something.

"Why don't you do both? You could invite a reporter over and have them interview you and your crew for the record."

[HOLY FRACK YOU'RE A GENIUS!]

He winced. Primus, for an introvert she had one heck of a voice box in her. But he still managed a smile.

"Think I could meet them some point soon, too?" he wondered. "I've never actually met one of your guys before."

[Of course! I'll make sure the whole crew is there! They'd love to meet you – even Danger Noodle and Shakespeare!]

He blinked.

"Danger Noodle and Shakespeare? What?"

* * *

 **Note: Hoo! Longest First Star Chapter by far. Not sure how well I did on it (suck at writing politics because it's not my favorite subject lately) but I like political progress to make up for the idiots that be trying to rollback every progressive thing done in the past 8-10 years. I:**

 ***Also, Star Saber is xenophobic in this iterations since a.) he was never introduced in RiD and b.) I was told he appeared as a "knight in shining armor" in an anime he showed up in, but I don't watch anime since animes are animes, not cartoons, and I've never been a fan of them. He's like this because I'm using ArdentAspen's version of him from DA.**


	13. One-Shot: Nuts and Bolties

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

One-Shot: Nuts and _Bolties_

* _Time to meet the crew of the Bolt! Or at least some of them. This is going to be from Smokescreen's perspective, since Zodiac obviously knows her crew well, but I'm also going to "reference" that interview mentioned last chapter in a kind of "flashback" manner owing to unique personalities on this ship, and since it happened off-screen. You'll see what I mean as this goes on._

* _Also, puns. :P_

* * *

He'd never been out to the to the Iacon star-ship docks before; he'd never had a reason, really. Now, he had the perfect excuse to explore the docks, the expansive network of structures built into, on, and around a series of great plateaus almost two hundred klicks outside Iacon. Ships of dizzying varieties and colors towered all around him in every direction, bright early afternoon sunlight bouncing off their bodies. The CERF's elegantly simple acronym was emblazoned on each ship at different points, some on the bow, some towards the stern, and some tucked under wings. Hefty carriers filled with trade goods towered above him – he had to wonder if this was how the kids had felt around his kind: small, insignificant. Not all of the vessels looked like they were originally scientific either; some were clearly re-purposed battleships or cruisers, and some of them hadn't even had their weapons removed. Grinning, he wondered if the rest of the CERF was as rebellious as the ones at the Council meeting. Seemed like. Council tended to be leery of anyone with the capacity to mow down half a city's populace with a suite of guns. Either these were new additions, or they'd won against the Council at some point and had been allowed to keep the weaponry.

As he wound around and into the mesas where shops and satellite immigration offices had been built, he noticed for once that not all of the ships were of Cybertronian make. Two of the vessels reminded him of old sailing ships from Earth in their design, but tech-ed up and using shimmering sails and powerful thrusters on their sterns to propel them, each manned by strange fish people, roughly eight feet in height at their tallest, who wandered on deck or high up on the masts. Another was of a somewhat similar design, but far rounded and sleeker and reminding him of a dune buggy in a way. Weird insect-lizard hybrid creatures, ranging in height from a regular human to an impressive nine feet, plodded around on the vessel as they unloaded cargo and growled at one another. Every so often their insect wings would twitch, and their eyes, he noticed, would never blink in unison – it was always one set after the other. What species they were he didn't know – aliens were more the deal of the CERF and diplomats, not Guardsmechs. Another, with its submarine design and fish-themed wings and bow, was obviously from Aquatron. Another vessel, a lithe, streamlined and brightly painted cheetah of a ship, one that would've made Knockout salivate, was obviously a Velocitronian carrier, crew members roaring in and out as they raced each other to deliver in record time.

None of these were what he was looking for though.

Slowing, he swapped forms and hopped onto the walkways as two Velocitronians screamed past. He jolted when he felt something scaly and slimy bump into him from behind and, spinning, one of the strange fish-people staggered past. Irritated burbling came from its throat as a triad of lights lining its throat sparkled ruby, finned arms gesturing. One webbed foot stamped.

"Sorry!" he said. "Sorry! My bad!"

Burbling in what sounded like a "sure, whatever" tone, it broke back into its fluid run. He followed the creature's path until it disappeared into the throng. Moments later a Tigerhawk swooped low, a crate clasped in its paws. He nodded, impressed. The CERF could definitely teach cities or two a thing about rapid integration. He followed her flight path – and spotted what he'd been looking for. It was a small ship considering the behemoths surrounding it, survey class just like she'd said, but the design stood out like Bulkhead in a ballet class it was so unusual. The ship was more...more _bestial_ in the way it looked, even more so than the Aquatronian vessel. The bow, its very tip gently curved, reminded him of a beak. Numerous wings and protrusions extended out like articulate feathers and aimed towards the stern, like the feathered plume of a Writhing Wing warrior mech, and powerful but beautifully made thrusters were positioned on the largest of the articulate feathers in the plume. Turquoise lights ran up and down its Gainsborough grey body and under the many wings, flickering brightly even in broad daylight and contrasting against the midnight blue underbelly. Across its beak-like bow in flawless Autobot blue (excellent taste by the captain) was the ship's designation: _CERF Tieyeian Bolt._

He let his mouth hang open by a fraction. Screw the Velocitronian one! _This_ was an awesome ship!

He broke into a run towards the nearest ramp that led up into the cargo bay, sealed from the open air. A quick twist of the Phase Shifter took care of _that_ little problem.

The hold itself was nothing compared to the titanic holds of hauler ships, but judging by the crates of supplies already in the hold, neatly stacked around in towers, it looked like the _Bolt_ might be heading off some time soon. Meandering through the tiny model city, he examined some of the impeccably labeled crates: Energon, medical supplies, polish (what?), cleaning solution, dispensable tools, replacements for different body parts (that wasn't exactly a cheerful find), an entire tower of crates dedicated to datapads, and flame suppressant chemicals of all things, among countless other things. Some of the spots were even labeled for future crates. He couldn't help laughing. Whoever was in charge of supplies here was a die-hard neat freak.

Reaching the exit door, the motion sensors picked him up and the doors hissed open. Before they were even halfway open, a war hammer was aimed at him – a horned mountain of a war hammer that put the Forge to shame, sparking with electricity. The holder, a burly tank former femme whose helm crest had been replaced with a hefty horn and looked like an angry rhino – literally – glared him down. He tensed. His hand went for the Phase Shifter. He tried to get a word out, tried to –

In a grey blur, the hammer swung. There was no way something that heavy could move so fast.

But it did.

* * *

 _The camera lens stared up at the single light that lit a simple hallway. Voices argued beyond its line of sight._

 _"Frisk, he's just a CI student. He's not gonna rob us," argued a squeaking tomgirl voice._

 _A grunting female voice demanded to know where his badge was. An ensuing grunt sounded more accepting._

 _"Alright. Frisk, give him his anti-gravs back."_

 _Tinkering._

 _The camera re-oriented._

* * *

Knockout was never going to live this down. He knew it. He'd _just_ left the clinic that morning, and now he was back on a medical berth with someone looking him over, too-bright lights hovering above him. Or...wait. Why were they checking out his audials, and why did that "digit" feel slime-y...? He jolted when a voice, female and kinda gruff for a Kalian voice print in his opinion, barked in her own language – something about "fixing" or something like that. The "digit" then receded with upset whines. Groaning, he sat up to check where the whining was coming from, regretting it when the world decided to perform backward ollies on him for no reason. He held his helm, wincing at the pain that arced through his tactile net.

"Take this as a lesson to use the front door, _zh'ere_ ," the Kalian femme's voice advised in her rough purr.

The swirling passed and his vision cleared. Ahead of him at a counter was a strange, sort of stocky femme that looked like one of those weird armored creatures that waddled around urban areas on Earth at dusk or at night. What were they called again? Turtle rats – no, armadillos. Pretty femme, too, colored like warm caramel with copper accents on her arms, legs, and chest, but the colors faded like old cloth. Even weirder, she had an abstract tattoo on her left arm that seamlessly incorporated markings that betrayed her as a certified field medic.

When he looked towards the door, he yelped. The bad-tempered, hammer-toting bruiser rhino femme from the Pit was there with her arms crossed over her bulky chassis. Watching him. Impassively. Like she hadn't tried to bash his helm in.

"The Pit is your problem?!" he growled, canting his doorwings down and flaring his field. "You could've taken my helm off!"

Rhino-femme-from-the-Pit merely grunted.

"Trust me, _zh'ere_ ," the Kalian said from across the room busily mixing together something in a cube, "if Epsilon had wanted to take your helm off, you'd be in a crypt right now, not a medbay."

The Kalian femme strode towards him with an arc welder, a large cloth, and a cube of medical grade that looked cloudy. Rather than make him drink, she dipped the cloth into the fuel and began dabbing it on a spot just beneath his optic and a little above his chin. It stung. Even her light touch hurt, and from the way he felt the cloth dip meant there was a nasty dent there. Primes it hurt, but the Kalian scolded him each time he tried to duck away, so he tried (he really did) to keep still. The whining continued. Cloth was exchanged for the arc welder. The super-heated flame stung about as bad as the liquid as it seeped into a small breech, but she finished in only a breem.

"So who're you?" he asked – any excuse to ignore the angry rhino guarding the door.

"Tonic," she said. "I keep everyone here capable of doing their jobs."

Yeah, he thought, including the rhino-femme-from-the-Pit named Epsilon. Might've been better if she _hadn't_ done her job for once.

Still the whining went on. The Pit was it coming from? He heard small limbs plant themselves on the berth beside him and, daring to glance away, saw a site he wasn't expecting to see on a star-ship: a rust hound, pure white, with large pink-tipped audials like tiny satellite dishes, one of which was forever flopped over. Creature stood maybe seven or eight feet in height, its tail wagging so hard its entire rear end was along for the ride. The whining, he realized, was not really whining, it was the hound desperately holding back its exuberant barking. He laughed. Someone had done some hard-core behavior training on this one. Sweet temperament, too. He obliged it with some rubs on the helm until, fulfilled in that sense, it got down and began to snuff around the medbay, pawing at the ground-level cabinets every so often.

Tonic opened up a comm. link and said: "Simba, remove your mutt from my medbay before she gets into my cabinets again. I am _not_ letting her contaminate fresh supplies with her endless slobbering and chewing for the umpteenth time."

The hound's audials pricked up and oriented around on hearing something he couldn't. Reluctantly it removed itself from the cabinet it was pawing at and bounded out the doors, its long front legs slightly off kilter from its body and back legs. He'd never seen a drunk Hindian, but he a sneaking suspicion they'd run exactly like that rust hound if they _did_ get over-energized. He snorted. Maybe there was something up with its joint alignment or its center of balance, or maybe it was just weird and it ran like that naturally. The hound slipped to the back burner when Tonic rose to return to one of the counters. Reaching into a cabinet, she took out a dent-puller and returned with it, warning him he had to stay still. He promised he would, earning a satisfied nod. She positioned it and set to work. A sharp pang shot through his helm, for which the Kalian apologized, as the dent flattened out in an instant. It would fade in a moment, she told him.

And it did.

"You're free to go," she said. "Check in with the captain on the bridge before you roam."

He blinked. Wait, that was it? Epsilon's blow had felt a Pit of a lot more painful than just removing one dent and sealing a crack in his faceplates.

" _Zh'ere_ , Epsilon wasn't trying to kill you," she smiled in a voice like warm oil. "Just incapacitate you. She's ex-police; doesn't condone killing."

He dared to glance at Epsilon. Oh, _ex-_ police was she? Not hard to imagine _why_.

Her armor flared on noting his field glyphs. "Not for the reasons you think," grunted Epsilon. "Left the force on my own for reasons I won't discuss with you. Least not til I'm good an' hammered."

A certain something in her voice softened him: pain. Other little warning bells, too, made an ugly truth burrow into his processor: her comment about needing high grade to talk about those "reasons;" her armor suddenly tightening against her frame yet her pauldrons remaining aggressively flared out; her field retreating inside, unwilling to reach out; her attacking him so quickly, like out of instinct rather than conscious thought. Primes was he _not_ liking where this on-ramp of thought was headed. That was a highway he didn't want to get on to, especially because he knew it existed. He blurted out an apology before he really thought about it. He hadn't...had she reported it?

Epsilon merely grunted and motioned him to come forward. He came. She grabbed his wrist, quick and rough, and disabled the Phase Shifter, taking it from him and storing it in her professionally surly manner.

"Hey!"

The rhino-femme glared at him impassively stating: "Ship protocol explicitly says no foreign weapons or devices on this vessel. Once you're ready to leave, I'll return it."

He opened his mouth to protest, but at the last moment decided that Epsilon, maybe, was right. This was Zodiac's ship, and he was nothing more than a visitor. To break her rules just to hang on to his trusty device would be to violate her trust. Hopefully the rest of the crew wasn't so trigger-happy. One smashed faceplate by one crew member per visit was one smashed faceplate too many, but maybe that friendly rust hound was a good sign. Maybe Epsilon was just the fluke – and, as Tonic had said, by not coming in the front like a sensible visitor, he'd kinda brought that attack on himself. Epsilon had had every right to think he was an intruder or there to cause trouble despite being with the Guard.

Giving Epsilon one last suspiciously trusting glance, he left the medbay. He might as well stop by the bridge to make up for his mistake.

And maybe he'd bump into that rust hound or its owner along the way.

* * *

 _The camera hovered along, a slight ungainliness in its movements, the light thuds of its Kalian owner trotting alongside it. Turning a corner, its lens was quickly assailed by a black, grey, and white form with bat-like wings extending from beneath the being's tiny limbs. Optics in size more fitting of a sparkling stared into its depths, twinkling with manic energy. A stream of speech issued from it as it crawled out of the way of the lens:_

 _"Wowyouactuallywentthroughwiththeidea! Ididn'tthinkyou'dbeokaywithaCIcominginandaskingyouandusquestionsbutIguessIwaswrong! WhichisokayIlovebeingwrong_ – _wronginagoodwayImean. Sowhoareyou? YoulooklikeaKalian. AreyouaKalian? Idon'thaveatonoftimetotalkI'msorrytosay_ – _busyrunningerrandsandcheckingsystemsformybossbutIcanspareafewmoments. Alwayswantedtobeinterviewed!"_

 _"BJ?" asked the squeaking tomgirl voice._

 _"Yescap'n?"_

 _"Slow down. And chill."_

 _The strange little femme took a purposefully slow intake of air._

 _"BJ?" wondered the Kalian. "That stand for something?"_

 _"Duh! It means 'base jump!' My real name's Freefall! Second engineer under chief Combustor! Captain just likes givin' us nicknames. Makes talking over comm's with each other and with other crews funner!"_

* * *

The hallways were nothing spectacular. The ceiling were nice and tall and the halls wide for such a tiny ship, and each was lit by practical strips of turquoise light on the floor and on the ceiling. A few portholes peeped into the outside world, around each one a dizzying abstract design that reminded him of the work Sanskrit had been doing when he'd spoken to her – intricate, connected, blending floral henna with mechanical tattoo designs. Sections of the walls, too, had been decorated, but the interior was unfortunately practical in contrast to the spectacular, alien design of the exterior.

He paused on hearing an endless cascade of chatter coming from a connecting hallway:

" _OhmygoshIcan'tbelievethere'saGuardLieutenantontheBoltandtheoneCap'nhitthatonetime! Ishecute? Ihopehe'scute. Iwonderifheknowsaboutusyet. DidCap'ntellhimaboutus? Shenevermentionedit...Oh!Thatmeanswecouldsurprisehim! Whereishethough? Cap'nsaidhe'dbeherebynow. Didhegetlost? Solushelphimifhetookthewrongentrance. Ordidhegetdistractedandpayavisitwiththeothercrews? Wayfindermightknow - WayfinderIneedyourhelp!"_

He paused mid-step, reeling. Hol-ee Primes. And he'd thought Miko on Monster was bad. _Somebody_ was hitting the red stuff _hard_.

The t-intersection of three hallways ahead was suddenly occupied, but not where he'd expected it to be. A somber grey and white form clambered, bullet-fast, across a dark wall. He wasn't totally sure what he was looking at. Some kind of squirrel femme? But she didn't really look like the squirrels he'd seen on Earth. She seemed more mouse-like, but had the squirrel's bushy tail, and her body was flatter. Another aspect, harder to catch thanks to her rapid movements, was interesting: her arms and legs looked like they had some kind of thin connecting mesh, silvery in color. Her body design, even weirder, looked like it had hints of some kind of plane. On reaching the end of the wall she was on, his suspicion was confirmed – jumping high off her wall, the femme extended her arms and legs out to reveal the thin mesh. She glided over and caught the next wall, tiny clawed digits clasping on the surface like a flying gecko. Then she just kept going on her way.

And she was still talking.

" _Ohmygosh! Epsilongothim?! Noslaggingway! He'sokayright? Tellmehe'sokay! Shedidn'tkillhimdidshe? OohIhopehedoesn'tgetusintroubleoverthat! Whereishedoyouknow? I'lllookforhimandgetbacktoyouifIfindhim!_ "

Carefully he slunk around the corner into the hallway she'd come from, a door off to the side telling him that was where the chatterbox had appeared. The thrum of a powerful engine came from beyond it. The engine room, or at least the door that led to it. Did that mean Ms. Chatterbox was an engineer? Grinning, he headed for it. The _Bolt was_ a prototype survey ship, and he'd heard from Knockout (in confidence) that it had a prototype infusion engine straight from the geeks at Lucent's: the SL-1 Peregrine. Maybe just a peek..? Wasn't like it'd kill anyone, right? He was just looking, and it'd be quick. No harm, no foul. He'd still go and check in with the captain. Besides – no one was home. No catch, no foul.

The door hissed open at his approach, and he ducked inside.

A short entrance hall led further in, canting a few degrees down. Lights of a different shade, citrine, lined the hallway and soon branched out into an expansive space. Cables and wires snaked around, under, over, and up every space available in an organized way, but the engine itself was a sight to behold despite being tucked away in a protective casing to keep the glare down. It shone brighter than a searchlight, and its humming thrum vibrated around the room like the ship itself was purring. The four-pronged infusion arm that fed the engine hung higher above, inert for the moment. Consoles were dotted around the room, each slightly different from the other. One in particular was almost mini-con level in height, while another towered over it.

Curious, he strolled over to investigate.

The tiny one, he assumed, must belong to the red-addicted chatterbox he'd narrowly avoided. The crazy tall one definitely belonged to someone, and the screen had a message on it. His curiosity mounted; the message was written in Canyon dialect. He began reading it and almost choked as he translated. And here'd thought Arcee and Wheeljack knew some colorful curse words and phrases. He backed away, feeling dirty just looking at the towering giant's console now. The final console looked to be made for a mini-bot, and had some eccentric flairs in its design that spoke of an Altihexian. No curse words, and it had been left open to a live diagram of the engine. Engine seemed stable, and at the moment it was only running on minimal power in an idle state just to provide power to other areas of the ship – probably crew quarters, doors, and the medbay if he had to guess. He hadn't seen any security cameras, but maybe it was powering those too. Security officers couldn't be everywhere; only made sense to have some extra "eyes" around to monitor the ship.

A low growling hiss made him jump. His hand went for his wrist, remembering only after it hit air that Epsilon had taken it from him.

Out of the shadowed recesses of the engine room, a towering figure emerged, its body swaying to and fro, into the light. A giant mech, an Ophidian, easily as tall as Bulkhead, his legs replaced with the thick body of a serpent. White racing stripes that shone with their own light ran from the sides of his helm, down his body, and ended by combining at the tip of his tail. Optics like flickering foundry fires burned in suspicious anger, and his four burly arms he thoroughly believed could throttle Predaking. Drawing up, he loomed over him.

His doorwings lowered of their own accord. "Ah..."

"An' who the frack're yoo, yoo _wa'i-bku_ _ultze'o_? What're yoo doin' in me Lady's spark without my say so?!" he snarled. One fist balled. "Talk, _mat'o'or'ku_ , afore I rip yoor optics oot an' toss 'em inte a forge!"

* * *

 _The camera stopped at a door. Behind it, what sounded like a titanic Felioid purred away, its soft thunder rattling its delicate internal components._

 _"I'd...turn the visuals off, sir," squeaked the tomgirl voice. "My chief engineer can be a little...touchy when it comes to recording equipment. He doesn't like gleingin'ayl_ – _ah, that's the Avian word for 'sinning optics in sacred places' if you haven't learned that one yet."_

 _The Kalian made a strange grinding noise. "Ah, I get cha. Doesn't like nosy peepers with cameras, huh?"_

 _"Well, no. He's okay with them so long as the cameras are blinded, and he knows you're coming so you don't count as gleingin'ayl. But the camera...let's just say it doesn't have the same rights and privileges."_

 _"Gotcha. One klik."_

 _Tinkering._

 _The camera's vision terminated._

 _"Oh, and fair warning: You might have to do some editing if you plan on turning this in for credit."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"...You'll see. Erm, hear."_

* * *

He tried to speak. Only a squeak came out. Another fist, one with clawed digits like knives, clenched. The Ophidian mech's looming glower was quickly turning into a wrathful glare. Another growling hiss escaped from the mech's throat and chassis vents, optics narrowing to slits. Nervous, scared, his doorwings lowered further as he emitted a low, soft grinding sound from his own throat – the closest he could get to a nervous gulp.

"Ah..." he managed, gesturing aimlessly. "I...y'see...I..."

The fists remained clenched, but they moved away. Both sets of arms folded over his thick chassis. The fire in his gaze faded by a fraction, but his armor stayed flared. His frown refused to flee.

"Who are ye and what're ye dooin' in here?"

Threat managed, he got control of his vocalizer again. "Your boss. She, um, she invited me? I'm Smokescreen. Elite Guard. The guy she nearly gave a concussion a while back? I-I know I was supposed to go straight to the bridge and all, but I just wanted to see – and I was trying to avoid the crazy flying mouse with the Red addiction. She was looking for me..."

Like magic, the frown lifted to be replaced with a surprisingly warm smile as his folded arms dropped. A hoarse, raucous chuckle escaped.

"If yoo want to avoid her, toonser, this ain't the place. That little _vort'qly_ works fer me."

Great...

"Who is she anyway?"

The Ophidian smiled, "Freefall. Belter of an engineer, but the radge _jlorgev_ refuses to shut her trap fer a single breem. Ah've asked Tonic before to rip her vocalizer out an' spare us the trooble, but the _bikleja_ refuses," he snorted, "as usual."

Ignoring the colorful adjectives, that sounded about right. That was no Red addiction he'd seen out there – she just wouldn't shut up.

"And, uh, who're you exactly?"

The mech drew himself up, not to loom over him threateningly as he just had but to look more impressive. He introduced himself (with more colorful language) as Combustor, the chief engineer, and he was in charge of two fellow engineer underlings, Freefall and Jumpstart. While on this ship, he growled, he'd fracking well make sure to respect the Lady, or he'd ensure well and good that he'd be leaving the ship in a cargo crate – in pieces – and sold to the nearest N'jez pilot for spare parts. Suddenly meek again, he nodded. The Lady, he assumed, must be the captain. But now that he was purposely trying to be in the light he noticed his mesh was oddly glossy. It wasn't the result of polishing either – the mech had tons of fluids on him of different colors paired with countless dents and dings and scrapes. This was a mech who didn't care a scrap about his appearance. So where was that sheen coming from? And why was he getting whiffs of acetone?

"So...can I see the engine?" he asked.

Combustor snorted like an angry Equinine, glaring at him. The Lady's spark were not for optics other than her tenders, he snapped. Fallen's ball bearings! Who did he think he was, asking that question?!

It hit him then. The Lady wasn't the captain – it was ship itself. Combustor treated it as a living being. The Ophidian saw his question as a violation of sacred privacy.

He dropped the subject. Instead, he asked where Jumpstart was. Apparently satisfied that the questions were now on a different frequency, he admitted that the _xalunef_ Jumpstart were hopping about ensuring all systems were running like Harahadrian spider silk. The Lady needed smooth innards to fly right, he said, or she'd get right pissed, and that _po'clen_ of an Altihexian was a good worker when he weren't slacking off. If he wanted someone to talk to, he said, try him or that _kilef'vor_ Jackdaw. _Po'clen_ was always happy to yammer away at a fellow toonser like him. He had to keep the Lady pleased, and right now she were in an eager, temperamental mood. None too happy about being grounded for so long, she was. Tail thudding onto the floor in a weighty tap, he slithered off to resume his work, the acetone whiffs fading with his presence as he muttered colorful descriptions of the present government.

Prolific cursing aside...he kinda liked this guy. He was a half tamed viper within the body of a boa – all he lacked were the toxic fangs. And he knew better than to tickle a venomous snake. Especially one that smelled like a gas fire waiting to ignite and crush him the same way a boa did to its prey.

"I'll, ah, I'll head to the bridge then," he said, pointing behind him to the door.

Combustor gave him a parting word from the depths of the engine room, "Respect the Lady, yoo white-backed _ultze'o. Both_ of 'em."

He swore he would. Cross his spark.

"Hn. Good. Now git yoo _deklot'ori_!"

He retreated from the viper's den.

* * *

He'd been on the _Nemesis_ once before, but the layout of the _Bolt_ was more straightforward in its design. He didn't worry about getting lost. The _Bolt_ was an organized, streamlined highway where the _Nemesis_ had been an urban street plan. Bland, sure – but the entire vessel was designed for efficiency, so extending that efficiency to the inside made sense. But, like with the windows and walls of before, certain sections of the walls had been intricately painted with beautiful designs to add a more home-y feel. Was all this Zodiac's hand at work?

A familiar whine came from around a corner, and the friendly rust hound from the medbay drunk-ran into view, skidding to stop at his heel struts and tail wagging harder than ever.

He knelt. "Aww, hey there. You miss me that bad?"

Whining some more, it put its paws up on his knee pikes and began licking.

"Oh my gosh, you're so cute!" he cooed. "Yes you are!"

A whistle came from the hall she'd (he assumed it was a girl with the pink accents) come around. Moments later a Vizanthan voice called out, but his Vizanthan was rustier than his Kalian. The Vizanthan himself strode from behind corner cover – a mech about his height, pale beige with rust red incorporated into his chassis and limbs, and black accents like that weird Egyptian eyeliner sat at the corners of his periwinkle blue optics. His helm was designed to mirror a roaring lion, but the silver faceplates shielded beneath the twin fangs was gentle.

Wait a klik. Lion's head design for his helmet. Was this "Simba?"

The Vizanthan whistled and the hound retreated to his heel struts. His optics, he noticed, were aimed at him directly, but there was something...off in the _way_ they were looking at him. They weren't looking at him the same way the rust hound's were.

"HETI seems to enjoy your presence, _sdi'qyya_ ," the Vizanthan commented, smiling.

He rose, "Who're you?"

Clasping his hands together like an earnest witness, the Vizanthan bowed and, smiling, said: "I am Sirocco, _sdi'qyya_ , this vessel's humble astro-meteorologist."

Smokescreen blinked. Sirocco's smile only grew. He motioned him to follow, seemingly knowing he was headed for the bridge without asking. The rust hound, apparently named HETI, trotted along beside him.

"I am the ah, how you say it, weathermech."

"Oh! So you help out with alien weather predictions and stuff? That sort of thing?"

"More or less. But I also create maps of climate and weather for study, so others know of any oddities or dangers and thus may take precautions. As we Vizanthans say, it is better to fly unfaltering into a rust storm with one's optics open –"

"Than to go in full throttle and blind," he finished for him.

Sirocco's smile broadened further, a hint of something in the smile as he glanced at him, that same off-ness in the way he looked at him returning. His periwinkle optics seemed to brighten, but their unique hue stayed the same. He was hinting at something, he could sense it. But what was it? He turned a corner with him, puzzling over the mystery. Why didn't he just say so outright? Saved a lot of time and effort. He glanced away, feeling toyed with. More of the wall artwork graced his sight, the design this time incorporating little circles of light in between the mechanical tendrils, each glowing in a different hue. One in particular was a seamless meld of red and blue, a little hint of white in the duality. Sparks. That's what they were. Kneeling, he put a hand on the red and blue one. Did the creator know whose this was? Had they seen it? When had they seen it?

"Who the Pit does these?" he breathed, whirling on the Vizanthan in awe and pointing to trace the design. "They're amazing!"

Sirocco tilted his helm to the side, still smiling in that mysterious way, and there was a touch of sadness in their directed off-ness. Smokescreen looked at him, something at the back of his processor poking at him persistently. After a moment it broke through and set off an alarm. His hands flew to his mouth in horror. How could he be so _stupid_ and _insensitive_?! The answer to Sirocco's mysterious smile was staring him in the faceplates. Literally.

"Primes! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were –"

"Charming? Intelligent? Mild-mannered? Taken?" Sirocco listed. He was still smiling.

" _Blind_."

He chuckled. "You say that as if it is a negative trait."

They began walking again. Ahead, at the end of this hall, a door more impressive than the others stood.

"But in answer to your question," Sirocco continued unfazed, "some were done by the captain, and others were done during visits by members of her tribe over the course of many cycles. With each visit, another is added. In fact, there are many you have not seen that are in the individual crew quarters, each unique and inspired by their city or world of origin."

He glanced sharply to stare at the cloud-voiced Vizanthan. World of origin? he wondered. So they were inspired by Cybertron? To which Sirocco answered with another of his chuckles. Had he not been told? The _Tieyeian Bolt_ had an Aquatronian colonial in the crew, a mech by name of Wayfinder, but for someone considered the finest cartographer to ever emerge from Aquatron – and that was no passing compliment! – the mech was ironically uncertain of what to do if not told explicitly. But a pleasant spark on the whole he assured him, one who always enjoyed the chance to speak of his home world to whomever didn't instantly turn their nasal up at him.

Smokescreen nodded. He knew well enough that their colonials weren't viewed in the highest light. It wasn't fair but it was an unfortunate fact.

They paused in unison near the slightly-more-impressive doors. Now, close up, he noticed a raised carving in the metal: a strange image of twin serpent-like creatures with features of both Chinese dragons and possessing the heads of feathered serpents, each clambering up the seam in the doorway with thick bird talon limbs, a single limb looking like it was ready to pull the doors apart like curtains. Lightning bolts crashed around them from invisible thunderclouds. Mutely he shook his helm in wonder. Was there anywhere on this ship untouched by a Painter?

"If you would kindly pardon me, _sdi'qyya_ , I must return to duties of my own. May the sun shine warmly on you, always."

Clasping his hands and bowing again, Sirocco left him, HETI tailing beside him.

Smokescreen took in some air and circled it. He stepped towards the doors. Hissing, the alien serpent beasts pulled them apart in a rapid flick, vanishing into the recess in the walls to rest from guard duty.

* * *

 _The camera panned around the circular chamber. A live image of the world outside was being relayed onto the display screens that doubled as windows. Closer, a Corvid mech was busy analyzing an expansive list while simultaneously analyzing three data displays. Another mech, a strange pale brass mech that looked like an aquatic canine, was immersed in fine-tuning every single control, chittering softly to himself. The Corvid was quick to turn; the water-dog mech was oblivious to its presence._

 _The Corvid greeted with a crisp salute and a jaunty smile aimed not at the camera, but something just above it._

 _"I salute you, captain, for conquering your fears. And who might you be, Kalian?"_

* * *

Considering the tiny nature of its captain, the bridge was a titanic chamber. A live image of the world was held up for all within to see through the windshields, and controls ringed the room like cattle fencing. Smack in the middle of the room, analyzing three separate holo-screen at once, was...Corvus Rho? No, not Corvus. This mech was more powerfully built and had a glossy blue-black finish. He was, however, a Corvid like Rho. He noted in surprise a familiar violet badge like the one Corvus had on his shoulder. What was it, he wondered, with Corvids and aligning with the 'Cons?

And situated on a perch just to the side of the main steering controls of the vessel was the captain herself, analyzing a holo-screen of her own.

He revved his vocalizer. Corvid and captain together turned. The captain was on him in an instant, hovering by his audials and pulling on them like a nervous child. Her beak over his audials hurt a little, but nowhere near as bad as the hit from Epsilon. The behavior was not something he'd seen from her before.

* _You're okay? Please tell me you're okay. Dia told me you had a run in with Thor, and with Riddler and Fuzzy off the ship and me being busy getting this bird ready for flight I had no real way of keeping track of you. I'm so sorry about that. I should've warned you to take the main entrance, but on top of the meeting and this whole thing kinda being spur-of-the-moment it just..slipped. You're okay though? Tonic told me you were okay but I wanna hear the words from you._ *

He touched the seam where Tonic had welded together the broken metal plates, "I'm fine," he promised. "Really. Your medic knows her stuff."

She stopped tugging and swooped back over to perch on the Corvid's outstretched arm. He smiled.

"Wanna introduce me?"

"Name's Jackdaw, cap'n's loyal right hand and close personal friend," said the Corvid with his twinkling blue-grey optics whilst flashing him a debonair grin.

He approached and shook the extended hand. Firm handshake.

"A pleasure to meet you in person at last. Pity you were unable to attend the convention of Councils; cap'n mentioned you woulda liked to have at 'em."

"Yeah well," he shrugged, "you don't come out of a fall into the Sonic Canyons within the deca-cycle, and those medics there wouldn't let me out till I was at a hundred percent. Would've snuck out, but I'd done it a few times before then, so I was on notice at that point."

Jackdaw's laugh suit his namesake, a loud caw that rang louder than a Draconian's calling cry.

"We're going to get along splendidly!"

* * *

 **God. So. Behind. I: Don't worry. Fire of Youth is up next.**

 **Yeah, introducing the whole crew would be time consuming, so I'm introducing my "favorites" of the cast I created. The rest will appear later.**


	14. Chapter 12

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 12: _En Viblo  
_

* _Let's get more of a view on Zodiac's job, shall we? Don't worry_ _– it's not as boring as you might think. Think Mass Effect 2 and 3 (and Andromeda)'s planet exploration, but with Cybertronians involved. ;) This'll be a longer chapter and a glimpse at the future of this series. Less politics, more adventure and science, but interaction between characters remains.  
_

* * *

"Move, move!"

The creatures – quadruped behemoths armed with claws, spinal thorns, and wide clacking mandibles, and two sets of four slit eyes that burned in anger and hunger – charged through the caverns after them, growling and shrieking in a horrid song. Six of the creatures, bipedal, sentience yet to be determined, but they might as well have been organic Predacons with how heavily weaponized they were. And fast, far faster than she'd thought for a creature this size. And the new femme had been stupid enough to poke them, wake them. One of them tackled Rampart, prepared to clamp its mandibles over his neck. The mini-bot decided against it, slamming his mace into one mandible, cracking it at the half-way curve. The creature screamed, slamming one of its six claw-tipped toes into the ground dangerously near his helm as it backed off. Rampart scrambled to his trods and ran, the remaining five quadrupeds stampeded after him and the rest of the group.

She, dust-covered, battered, frightened, demanded where the exit was. Epsilon grunted agreement. They needed an exit. Now. The uneven terrain of the tunnels was hampering their movement speed.

Rampart took a sharp turn into another tunnel instead wasting time answering. The walls all around glimmered with terbium ore and glowing micro-organisms – the latter of which their new xeno-biologist, Allele, had gathered before this mess. At least they had something to take away for investigation...if they got out to deliver it. These things were determined to run them down. The why of it was irrelevant to her.

"Follow Chess!" she hollered. "Go!"

The geologist skidded to a halt. Crouching, she placed her hands on the ground, feeling the tunnels trembling under the combined charge. She channeled power into her legs, forcibly suppressed the springs coiled within, and launched herself, twisting mid-air, to slam her trod into one of the creature's heads. The hit landed, but when she tried to launch herself off the creature it snapped a maw filled with plate-like teeth over her leg. She cried out as she felt her armor warp and bend at the pressure. Allele would have fun with that contradiction she thought in a spurt of dark humor. A great hammer then crashed down over its armored, horned head, earning another cry that harbored a whimper in the background as electricity surged through its body. She fell, Sirocco grabbing her before she could hit ground in both arms and took off, his field biting at her in reprimand. From above, a fine dust rained down. Roaring, the creatures drew nearer. A creature lunged, clamping its mandibles into Sirocco's legs. He stumbled, fell. She tumbled out of his arms. Rampart swung again. Epsilon bashed another.

There wasn't supposed to be anything alive on this planet – nothing _this_ advanced. Now that "absent life" was going to run them into the ground, maybe consume them or Primus knew what else to them.

And all because the slagged rookie had decided to poke the funny looking rock with a scalpel.

* * *

 _Captain's Log:  
Time: 1425 Hours (home time)_  
 _Date: Cycle 42 of 4 Lunar Cycle, Multi-Target Mission  
Location: PSR J0314-18.2 (*needs better name)_

 _Pulsar itself is a low-mass x-ray binary (LMXB) spinning at a rate of once every klik (0.21 Terran "seconds") coupled with a class M companion that is displaying unusually powerful flares. Most likely undergoing a period of high activity in its magnetic cycle before it settles down again. High concentrations of oxides (typical) and traces of yttrium in the M's spectra.  
_

 _It appears that "pulsar planets" are not as rare as once thought, however they are not as common place as main sequence planetary systems. How they form varies from system to system depending on how the star collapsed into its current remnant state. In this case, the planets (described below) do not match the spectra of the pulsar's M class companion, indicating they were most likely pulled in from outside the system rather than forming after the initial supernova that created the pulsar - said explosion would have destroyed any former satellites. Where exactly will take further investigation into nearby stellar systems._

 _Satellites:_

 _PSR J0314-18.2a: Gas giant. 54% hydrogen, 30% helium, 12% methane, 4% neon, trace amounts of other gases (phosphorus, boron, fluorine)  
*Beams from pulsar agitate the neon in the atmosphere to generate stunning auroras._

 _PSR J0314-18.2b: Large rocky planet 1.5x size of Earth. Potential former atmosphere stripped by beam. Abnormal amounts of gaseous elements in its spectra, so possibly once the core of a gas giant. Icy nitrogen polar caps. Probably a drifter pulled in from outer freeze belt early on, then pulsar stripped atmosphere, leaving the core behind.  
_

 _PSR J0314-18.2c: Rocky planet 3x size of Earth. Scanners detected large quantities of metals (strontium, zinc, copper, tungsten) beneath the surface from a safe distance. Icy surface comp. hints at captured rogue. In close to pulsar and in beam's radius; no atmosphere; have not explored further yet. No signs of life. Weirdest part is that is seems to generate its own heat, while conversely being tidally locked. Makes no sense. Weirder, tidal locking happens in resident satellites, not captures. Usually anyway. Could be a fluke in the grand scheme.  
*Mining spot?_

* * *

Completed for the time being, she put the datapad aside for future updates. Keeping discovery logs wasn't the most exciting part of the job, but it had to be done. Knowledge was still knowledge even if it was boring as the Pit. At least this wasn't a tedious system to log about. Pulsar systems were the fun ones. Fun – and pretty slagging dangerous if you didn't know what you were doing. No rookie crews were allowed near these monsters, and no ships without at least Tier 3 shielding arrays either – and that was just the bare minimum requirement. Pulsar beams were nasty things all around. Not even Tier 5 shields could last for much longer than a half joor when directly exposed to a pulsar's death ray. Her crew could get away with a Tier 4 shielding array only due its survey class and high experience.

Her hand went to the piano of controls to lightly tap a single holo-key, her lips forming into a teasing smile.

"How's the Lady doin', botch-baby? She good?"

Combustor chuckled in his usual raucous manner, " _Runnin' smoother than a Venn's arse!_ "

" _So long as we stay out of the beam radius we're a-okay,_ " Jumpstart added in his usual chipper, casual manner. " _Get in its line of sight, and things get hairy._ "

The Avioid nodded. That was an understatement. According to Freefall, the rate at which the pulsar was spinning hinted it was one of the younger generation, equating to dangerously powerful beams. They wouldn't be able to stay in its line of fire for more than ten breems at most. But getting the scans for the dark side of the satellite was the easy part – exactly why Rainshadow, Wayfinder, and Shatterveil were getting that done first, busy with that task at that very moment. They would need to be in that line of fire for a least a few breems to get geologic scans of the third satellite's pulsar-facing side at some point. Her ship's equipment wasn't strong enough to pierce clean through the planet to the other side.

"Keep me and Dodger posted on shield status, guys. We can't play peek-a-boo with the pulsar forever."

" _Will do!_ "

" _Aye!_ "

Hitting the key again, she ended the call and resumed her analysis of the pulsar. "The deadliest lighthouses in the cosmos," Corona called them. Fitting for an object that could sterilize entire worlds in a breem – captured worlds anyway. If a star was a reactor, a supernova was a reactor meltdown on synth-en and the ensuing fallout all in one. No resident satellites could survive that. Distance was the only thing that could save you.

"No fan of stepping into the spotlight, are you, cap'n?" Jackdaw observed passively.

She was about as eager to get in the pulsar's firing lane, she said, as she was to perform for a crowd. And at least the crowd wasn't actively trying to murder you.

He shuttered his optics once in the slow, ponderous way that foretold of deep thought, "Is there no way to extrapolate based on data from this side?"

Couldn't make a map when half the data was missing, she answered dryly. Besides, planetary geography could vary wildly from hemisphere to hemisphere. If it spun normally like a good little planet they could pull this off through camping, but thanks to the planet being tidally locked they had no other option open. Either they went bright side to finish the geological survey or they left with only half of a pulsar planet mapped. _Bolties_ never settled for halfway on anything, especially not when it came to their jobs. _  
_

Jackdaw smiled wryly at her. Fair enough, he admitted. Halfway meant half pay.

" _Captain? Scans are complete,_ " came Rainshadow's voice over the speakers _._

"And?"

" _We've found something...strange,_ " her geologist clarified.

"Strange?" she repeated. "Like what?"

" _Below the glare of whirling white,_

 _within a world of frost and stone,_

 _there twist and turn old shafts and pipes_

 _like patchwork roots by hist'ry sown._ "

" _What she said,_ " Rainshadow concluded.

It took only a moment for her processor to translate the Translvoid's poetry. "You guys found tunnels?"

"Any chance they're natural phenomena?" wondered Jackdaw. "Lava tubes? Liquid erosion?"

" _Not these,_ " insisted the geologist tersely, " _This isn't any kind of natural geology I'm familiar with._ "

"Send the scans to BJ and have her get them to Allele," she ordered. "Let's see what our new xeno-biologist makes of 'em."

Wayfinder assured her the scans – and Freefall – were already on their way.

She opened another channel to their newest member, "Allele? You get the scans?"

" _Yes, ma'am. They just arrived. And I can say without in-depth analysis that these are not naturally formed tunnels. They're roughly ten klicks below the surface and stretch for hundreds of klicks. Tunnels connect to caverns of varying scale. Though they have a natural appearance, the way they converge on the caverns like nerve bundles connecting to a main sensory relay_ – _that is artificial. That is design. Something living made these._ "

"What made them do you think?"

" _T_ _hat is hard to say, ma'am, without first-hand analysis. A burrowing creature of some kind. Large. I'm most reminded of Frazholn and the networks created by blast-beetles. No technological assistance was used to create them._ "

The Avioid stepped back from the controls to think. Burrowing creatures. Large ones. The planet's surface was sterile from exposure, and the tidal locking further denied life a chance. Tidal locking also meant the planet was most likely a natural satellite – yet it couldn't be because its composition didn't match the system, and no planet within light years of a supernova could survive. Nothing could be alive on this planet. But these tunnels were deep below the surface, almost ten klicks according to Allele, and as they were finding out, planets made pretty good shields. Somehow, too, the planet was generating heat despite not rotating. This planet had to be a capture of some kind.

"Mojave? Any explanation for the heat signature from the planet?"

" _Not at the moment, captain,_ " Rainshadow admitted. " _I would say volcanic activity, but the tidal locking prevents that. No rotation, no active core, no volcanism. Radioactive decay is my best guess. Must be large deposits all over the planet's interior considering the strength of the signature._ "

"Allele?" Jackdaw asked. "Any chance whatever made those tunnels is still alive?"

" _No. The original supernova, the pulsar beams, the tidal locking_ – _if anything survived, it would be hardy microorganisms using the stone as a fuel source, not the large burrowers._ "

"Then it would be safe to investigate?"

" _I hesitate to say 'safe', lieutenant Jackdaw, considering where we are, but if you are wondering whether we risk disturbing anything_ – _no, I don't think so._ "

Jackdaw gave her a curious glance, grinning. She nodded.

"Any entrances to the tunnels on the surface?" she asked.

" _Yes, ma'am. Sending coordinates now._ "

"Stop calling me 'ma'am', Allele. I don't give a ton of effort into the chain of command."

" _But_ –"

"Call me Zodiac. If you feel that's too personal, just address me as captain or zell. 'Kay?"

" _Yes ma_ – _captain._ "

" _The Lady's shields are shored up and stable, ya wee zer'benyeil'va,_ " Combustor grunted, a smile obvious in his words. " _She's ready to dive inte the Pit whenever yoo are._ "

Holding back her retort (and her laughter) she activated the ship-wide address system and spoke into it –

"Thor, Mojave, Simba, Allele, Chess – get your gear and head to the hold. We'll drop you off at a tunnel entrance in the northern hemisphere on our way to the bright side. Once we're done with scans we'll come pick you up. Snickety, make sure they each have distress beacons so we can find them easy. Riddler, Fuzzy, you'll pull double duty – make sure the comm's stay in working order while we're in the beam's firing lane so we don't lose the ground team if they hit problems, and work on the scans with Waves. We'll try and make this as quick and efficient as possible."

– and then deactivated it, emitting a soft sigh from her facial vent. Her lieutenant nodded approval. One quick, upward swipe of her hand made the holo-display appear. Her optics, bright and inquisitive, examined the map of the dark side and the two dozen red dots that marked entrances to the underground. She chose one. A moment later, she turned to address her helmsmech:

"Lee," she said. "Head for these coordinates, please."

The Lontroid mech chittered, clicked, and squeaked that "she never needed to ask" and that "it would be his pleasure" before directing the _Bolt_ towards her first target in a silky flight that rivaled her own prowess at the controls. He _had_ learned from the best, she supposed, smiling to herself at the prideful thought.

* * *

Above, the black sky strobed in violent rapid fire flashes, quicker than a speed-gifted on Red, and the plumed thrusters of the _Tieyeian Bolt_ were receding towards it in a hurry. Soon enough it popped over the horizon. Gone.

Chronometer was ticking.

Snorting through her abdominal vents to ward off the anxious clench in her spark, she took point, hefting her hammer over one pauldron. The entrance the captain had chosen was embedded into the base of a crater wall, ice encrusting the crater like a bad case of cosmic rust. Part of the crater wall above had collapsed over it. Her hammer quickly dealt with the obstruction, and she entered first.

"Careful," Rainshadow urged. "We don't know how stable these tunnels are."

The tunnels hadn't looked impressive on the scans, but in person – the tunnels were bigger than she'd expected. Could easily fit an Insecticon warrior (and her for that matter) with room to spare. The deeper they went, the wider the tunnels became, allowing the former single line formation to spread out to one crew member on each side of her. Her hand tightened around the hammer's pole. Just how big had the burrowing creatures been? Thank the Primes they weren't around any more. She wasn't sure if she could combat creatures this size – because there was no way a single creature had made this many expansive tunnels. Her best population estimate: dozens. Maybe hundreds. What could kill a species like this? She kept going. They were dead though. No need for concern. But her grip on her weapon tightened nonetheless.

They followed her down, down, down into the dark. The air began to feel thicker. Other branching tunnels fed into theirs, but she kept her heading. No distractions. The holo-display on her wrist, equipped with the scans taken by the ship, indicated there was a large cavern up ahead, at around the eight klick mark. Behind her, Sirocco's trods came to an eventual standstill. She heard him take in air in a careful, curious, ponderous way, holding the air for a moment before releasing it again. The rust hound at his heel struts copied him. The rest of the group paused alongside him. She turned to face the Vizanthan, arcing one thick brow ridge in a silent question. The only noise that answered her was a low frequency whirring hum that always happened when the mech's processor was fully occupied in analysis, and the sound of his air cycling. By the half breem mark the sound had faded. His pale periwinkle optics shuttered once. He took in one final cycle of air.

"What?" their newest member wondered, poking him with one of her clasp-like hands. "What is it?"

"There are atmospheric gases within these tunnels," Sirocco said. "Nitrogen. Methane. Carbon Dioxide. Traces of sulfur compounds."

Allele released one of her spherical, insect-winged bio-drones. It affirmed Sirocco's analysis.

"All of them capable of being used as an energy source for anaerobic microorganisms," she murmured. "But we're only at the four klick mark; we're still too near the surface. Atmospheric temperatures at this depth are too low to permit organic life, regardless of the gases."

Then they would keep moving, Epsilon grunted. Go deeper.

The air became thicker still as they kept traveling downward. She rounded a long curve in the tunnel, where she thought she saw a faint fiery glow – and had the grace to stop mid-step and gawk at what lay beyond it. She had to admit – she'd been expecting something, but not this much something. Allele bumped into her from behind.

"What? What's –?"

The gasping squeal of happiness that escaped her, in her honest opinion, was more suiting of a sparkling than an adult femme. The Insectoid femme raced out into the cavern, shimmering in pale yellow-orange hues, twirling around like a drunken Vosian sky dancer.

"It's incredible!" she gasped. She giggled, "Look at them all! Eee! They're beautiful!"

Rampart guided the remaining scientists out into the cavern. Paint him impressed, he confessed.

HETI barked and ran out into the middle in her usual drunk Hindian manner, but Sirocco didn't follow the rust hound. Soon enough, HETI was wandering around the cavernous space, happy to sniff at everything.

Pulling out a tube and a scraper from her subspace, Allele scuttled over the west wall and gingerly removed a section of the glowing mat, the touch resulting in a surreal ripple effect that cascaded around the cavern. Unable to help herself, the white-splotched pink femme poked at the organic mat to earn another shimmering ripple, and another elated giggle. She scuttled back over to them, tube in hand, and held it up for Rainshadow to see. The Hopper geologist took it gingerly in one slender, worn hand, holding it up to her right optic.

"I was expecting a few patches of microorganisms at best," she commented in veiled shock, "not an entire cavern coated in the stuff."

"I know, right?!" squealed the Insectoid. She got a hold of herself. Barely. "They – the bacterial mat I mean – must be using the minerals in the stone and the trapped gases for energy, ma'am. The increased heat must be a catalyst for the process. Perfect breeding ground."

Rainshadow handed the tube back and hopped off into the cavern. Every once in a while she paused to rapidly pound one large, elongated pede into the ground. Rampart followed Rainshadow's example. Reverting to his driller form, he trundled over to a boulder near the eastern edge where a vein of ore glittered under the glow of the mat. It took only a moment to extract the sample he wanted, and then he moved on to assist the Hopper geologist. Allele began her marathon to the farthest end of the cavern. Sirocco, never one to rush, casually strode out into the cavern, clearly no real destination in mind, but she smiled a little in her own idle wanderings around the cavern that he was veering towards wherever Rainshadow was. Subtle, like any Vizanthan. Rainshadow, ever observant, noticed, but didn't let on, focusing instead on her excavating.

Her grip on her hammer loosened.

* _Officer Epsilon!_ * Allele hailed over the common frequency. * _There's another tunnel over here! Bacterial growth has dropped off remarkably. I'm going to look into it._ *

She told her to be careful – and made her way towards the provided coordinates. Just in case.

HETI bounded by in her drunken Hindian run _._ The others soon joined the hound. They must've gotten what they'd needed from the chamber she guessed. Or maybe they were about as willing to leave the Tyrexian alone as she was. Together they entered the adjoining tunnel, only small splotches of the bacteria growing. Allele hadn't been exaggerating. She was no scientist, but wondered at the difference.

Hemming, Rampart used his mace to chip away at the stone on the tunnel walls, then handed the ships to Rainshadow. Her analysis revealed no change in mineral composition, and Sirocco found no difference in atmospheric composition.

"So why the difference?" she grunted.

Rainshadow hopped ahead, "Allele would know," she said. "Allele!"

The geologist hopped faster. On hitting another tunnel, she called again "Allele!" and kept it up, following her scent down the tunnel and into another. And another. And another.

She gripped her hammer tighter. Where was the biologist?

 _And why didn't anyone think to bring an electro-pulse scanner?!_

They went down yet another tunnel, emerging into a convergence point for six other tunnels. Rainshadow paused briefly before taking one of them that sloped down at a gentle ten degree angle. Eventually it spilled out into a smaller chamber. Allele's bright pink-splotched white form stood out in the dim glow of the scattered bacterial mats. She was leaning over a large, peculiar rock formation that, if her optics were right, was emitting a weak heat signature, and it wasn't just that one. There were a couple around that one also producing heat. Her grip around her hammer became a vice one.

She was no scientist, but she was fairly sure those weren't stones.

* * *

It wasn't a stone. She knew it wasn't. Stones didn't make body heat. Stones didn't breathe. But she poked it anyway.

Definitely body heat. Definitely breathing – slow breathing. Her tactile net picked up a distinct pulse of a circulatory organ beneath the stone, incredibly sedated. Hibernation, a variety of it anyway. Had to be. Most likely why it hadn't woken in an instant at her touch, and most likely wouldn't. Something this large required a lot of energy to survive, and hibernation, like stasis, was great at energy conservation. She had to wonder what their source of energy was down here. Could the bacterial mat sustain them?

A sample would tell more. They would not wake in an instant.

Pulling out a scalpel, she carefully poked it into the "stone" to gather the necessary biopsy.

The stone shifted.

Eyes, two sets stacked atop each other, glowing and hued the same as the bacterial mats, snapped open. The "stone" rose up to stand. She jumped back, shrieking more out of surprise than fear. Apparently they would wake up quickly. Interesting. Their plated hides were thick, but obviously remarkably receptive to stimuli. The other "stones" awoke at the sound. Quadrupeds. Six of them total. Big. Armored. Jagged, long-reaching mandibles. Protective dorsal spines. Spines on their tails. Each of them bellowed and snorted. Two dragged their heavy, wide, flexible front feet over the stone, the four thick claws on each digging into it.

Epsilon readied her hammer.

"No!" she insisted insisted in a quiet hiss. "This is a threat display, Epsilon! They're territorial, not outwardly aggressive. Not yet. If we turn and leave, nice and slow –"

Upset that her master was being threatened in any way, HETI leapt towards the quadruped nearest her master to bay and growl as loud as she could. Sirocco tried to call her back without success. HETI snapped her maw in a threat of her own. In answer, the creature swung its head to the side to bash its mandibles into the hound like a club, sending the hound flying into the wall to crumple to the floor. A pained whine escaped.

Threat display seemed to have given way to hostility. Unfortunate. She'd been hoping to get some candid behavioral analyses and biological readings done. They weren't aggressive towards _them_ , though, so maybe –

Epsilon swung her hammer in a rapid arc at the creature in retaliation. It gave a shrieking, burbling noise as the heavy, electrically-charged head met its mark.

"Rampart!" the bruiser femme barked.

She swung the sparking hammer in a wide horizontal arc at the encroaching creatures. They backed away for a brief, crucial moment, allowing her fellow officer to dart in and grab the rust hound. Just in time for the creatures' aggressiveness to boil over. In unison, the six quadrupeds charged. Epsilon swung at them again in the same threatening arc. Again, they hesitated. But not as long as they had the first time. Their bodies, suspected, were now fully functioning again. Their hibernation stupor was over.

"Move, move!" Epsilon thundered.

Epsilon reverted to vehicle form to let each of them race past into tunnel they'd come from. Curiously, she noted as she darted by her, the quadrupeds seemed far more hesitant to attack her vehicular form than they were to attack her biped form. That interesting observation she stored away for her analysis. If only she'd gotten that biopsy, she whined within as she scuttled along, she could write up a full report on the quadrupeds. Only once she and the others were safely past her and into the tunnel did she wheel around, swap forms, grab Sirocco by the hand, and thunder after them. And so did the aggressive quadrupeds, snorting and bellowing, not at all slowed by the uneven terrain. She noted that, too. And the thick claws on each foot, and how they'd dug through the stone in beautiful efficiency.

One lunged forward to snap at Rainshadow's tail. The geologist sped up her hopping.

Those mandibles – those broke the "power build" they bore. Too thin. Too long-reaching. They were for grabbing, not tunneling. Grabbing what? They were the first to step trod onto this supposedly dead world, and there was nothing else large enough to grab that would warrant their existence. At least, nothing they had found.

* * *

"Follow Chess!" Rainshadow hollered. "Go!"

He could see through her. The geologist skidded to a halt. Crouching, she placed her hands on the ground, feeling the tunnels trembling under the combined charge. He could almost feel her channel power into her legs, forcibly suppress the springs coiled within, and feel the kinetic energy unleashed when she launched herself, twisting mid-air, to slam her trod into one of the creature's heads. The hit landed, but when she tried to launch herself off the creature it snapped a maw filled with plate-like teeth over the offending limb. She cried out as her armor warped and bent under the pressure. Allele would have fun with that contradiction he thought in a spurt of dark humor. A great hammer then crashed down over its armored, horned head, earning another cry that harbored a whimper in the background as electricity surged through its body. She fell. He grabbed her before she could hit ground in both arms and took off, his field biting at her in reprimand. That had been ~ _brave_ ~ ~ _foolish_ ~

~ _Time_ ~ had been ~ _purchased_ ~ her field sparked back.

From above, a fine dust rained down.

Roaring, the creatures drew nearer. A creature lunged, clamping its mandibles into his legs. He stumbled, fell. Rainshadow tumbled out of his arms, his sight tumbling with her.

Rampart swung again. Epsilon bashed another.

There wasn't supposed to be anything alive on this planet – nothing _this_ advanced. The atmospheric gases trapped here, he had assumed, were not bountiful enough to support such large creatures. Allele, no doubt, would explain how this was so, should they manage to escape. But he was beginning to doubt if they would. The creatures were swift for their size, far more suited for the uneven terrain than they were. Already they had proven they could overtake them.

"Epsilon! The tunnels!" shouted Rainshadow, her spring-loaded trods beating back the creature that loomed over her.

Thank the Primes the officer understood her words. The former law officer came to a grinding halt. As the creatures focused in on her, her hammer swung not at them but at the wall nearest her. The tunnel heaved and groaned under the attack, another storm of dust and fine debris raining down.

She swung again.

And again.

And again.

The creatures roared and backed away when a stone from above struck the ground before them. Rainshadow scrambled free as more began to fall. Epsilon kept hammering.

Rampart's optics widened, "EPHI MOVE!"

In a great roar of stone, the ceiling above surrendered at last. Epsilon, at the last possible klik, hurled herself away from the collapse. When the dust settled, the tunnel behind them was congested with rubble and stones of all sizes. Behind it, the creatures snorts and grunts were easily heard.

"That bought us some time," Rainshadow winced through her warped leg. "Let's go!"

She began to hop away. She did not make it far before the pain from her leg forced her down. Allele scuttled over to help her up. The Hopper femme glowered at her for a moment before accepting her blade-clasp hand in bad grace. Rather than rely on the biologist who she clearly blamed for this sour excursion, she limped over to him. Gingerly, so as to agitate her injured leg, he lifted her up. He tensed when he felt the ground tremble, heard the rubble shift. It seemed the creatures were not easily deterred, he murmured. Already they were attempting to remove the debris.

"Then let's not stick around and wait for them to break through," Epsilon grunted. "Cap'n's probably wondering where we are by now."

' _Panicked would be more accurate..._ '

Nodding, Rampart broke into a quick trot to take the lead once more. Up and onward he led them, through all the tunnels their eager _di'jasd_ had scuttled down. Fleet of trod and impulsive. He did not wonder why Rainshadow held her in disdain. That combination was one of trouble, something she had proven. Up and onward. He could feel gravitational pressure decline. Up and onward. Through the optics of the femme in his arms he saw the great cavern of organic, glowing yellow-orange life. Beautiful then, beautiful now. Allele, enraptured as much as she had been at first-sight, deployed her whirring, insect-winged drone as she kept scuttling to capture its organic beauty permanently in holo-still form. It flew back to her without her needing to pause. And so they left the cavern of light for the tunnel that had first led them into its embrace, and back into the dark. Soon after, the concentration of gases steadily thinned after that threshold until it petered away in a pitiful manner to leave nothing.

Privately, he contacted Allele. Would the creatures follow them? Could they?

The femme said it was highly unlikely. Deprived of the necessary gasses required for respiration, the organs associated with that biological process would fail. A creature didn't need to be sentient to have self-preservation hard-wired into its brain.

His pace relaxed. Epsilon noticed, as did the femme in his arms.

The mini-bot officer led them on. At last, the exit was visible, as was the strobing light of the pulsar and the faint winking of the stars beyond. Out into the cold he stepped, out into the faint, twinkling choir. To hear their song again – it brought relief in a way escaping the tunnels and the creatures alone had not. He released a gust of hot air from his vents. In his arms, Rainshadow did the same. He moved his sightless optics. She understood the message and swept her helm around so he could see. He did not sight the ship. Epsilon thus activated her distress beacon in tandem with her fellow officer, prompting the others to do the same. He followed their example. Then, Rainshadow's helm abruptly stopped. Through her, he saw a great sleek form racing towards them on the horizon, thrusters igniting the dark sky with their cyan light. It called out to them in a mighty, booming voice.

His lip-plates curled up at the edges.

Hefting her hammer over her backstrut, Epsilon smiled fondly, "Now there's a sight for sore optics,"

The ship, roaring like the beast it was, soon engulfed the sky above them.

[What ho down there!] jested Jackdaw in one of his horrid falsetto accents. [I say, I thought you'd forgotten how to use those little beepers of yours! We've been scouring the place for ages!]

"Just get us a 'bridge, wise-aft," grunted Epsilon. "Mojave needs medical attention. HETI, too."

* * *

When the blind Vizanthan had brought Rainshadow into her medbay, gently held in his arms, she'd been unable to contain her gasp of shock on sighting her warped leg. Served her right for assuming the only "medical attention" needed was a forced clearing of the Hopper geologist's air vents. Rampart coming in on his heel struts with HETI nearly made her processor short circuit. The rust hound had a nasty dent in her side but otherwise appeared fine.

"Over here, over here," she snipped. "HETI can wait, I'm sure."

The Vizanthan mech laid her gently on the medical berth, then backed away to let her get a closer look.

She clicked to herself as she examined the limb. Warped and bent on the anterior and posterior, like her leg had been caught by one of Kaon's infamous metal presses. No leaks though, not on the outside. Inside, she suspected, would be another tale. Thrice her scanner ran up and down the limb. She winced at what it revealed. The powerful piston-powered spring within the limb that permitted her unique means of locomotion was now crushed into an unnatural twist, some of the coils snapped altogether. The piston itself was also warped. It was no wonder she had been unable to walk. The pain would have been excruciating.

Her helm jerked up to peer at the Hopper on the table, "What did this?"

Rainshadow was saved answering. The new femme scuttled forward. Her drone deployed to display a holographic image of a bizarre creature. Large, powerfully built. Protective, potentially offense-capable thorns ran up and down its spine. Its tail was similarly weaponized. Large, wide-reaching mandibles clacked once as the lunged forward. Then the image zeroed in on the mouth. Inside were teeth not unlike those found in terrestrial herbivores. Thick, wide, flat-topped, meant for grinding. Certainly matched the damage Rainshadow's leg had suffered. Creature had an incredible amount of bite force – strong enough to warp metal, inside and out.

"You were _bitten_ by that monstrosity?" she gawked.

Growling, the Hopper geologist's gaze shifted to the nearby xeno-biologist, "Blame her," she deadpanned.

Allele's helm fell. Her mumbled apology was, at any rate, sincere.

* _Why don't you get your data on that...thing to the captain?_ * she suggested privately.

Agreeing, Allele scuttled out of the medbay. Rainshadow's previously heated field cooled.

"Can you fix it?" the geologist wondered.

"The piston will be the easy fix," she said, "but the spring I will need to replace entirely. Damage is too severe for repair to be practical. Lucky for you that I have spares."

She squired once, "Can you do it now?"

"Let me have a look at the hound first, then I can start. Sirocco," she prompted.

* * *

 _Captain's Log  
Time: 1629 Hours (home time)  
_ _Date: Cycle 42 of 4 Lunar Cycle, Multi-Target System_

 _I need to amend my former assumption._ _PSR J0314-18.2c did contain life in the form of two new species:  
_

 _1.) Saxum aculeus (stone thorn)_

 _Species is strange mix of predatory and non-predatory features. Thick hide. Mandibles. Plated teeth. Claws clearly used for digging. As the only other discovered life form is a bacterial mat, a kind of lichen to be accurate, Allele has the idea the predatory features are vestigial, or are perhaps used for other, non-predatory purposes now that they're alone. Due to the insane amount of the lichen in a main cavern, and the drop off in connecting tunnels, she's got the incredible idea that Saxum aculeus might be cultivating it_ – _farming it. Future investigations required to prove it.  
*Suggested Common Name: Thraxuvan _  
_a.) Species is aggressive only when provoked._

 _2.) Hytonanil ignatus (living flame)_

 _Species is a bio-luminescent lichenous growth with a powerful yellow-orange glow. Survives off the stone and the trapped atmospheric gases. Thanks to the enormous colony in a main cavern my ground team explored, assumed most if not all other main caverns below the surface of PSR J0314-18.2 (frack we need a better name) contain colonies of similar size. Growth in the tunnels connecting to the main cavern dropped off remarkably. Why of it needs investigating, since the mineral and gas composition is not different enough to account for the drop-off in growth._

* * *

She put the datapad down once more to turn to face her newest recruit.

"Allele, I'm glad you managed to get this sample," she said, "but please try to, y'know, _not_ poke anything potentially alive and dangerous next time. We clear on that, Hokey Pokey?"

The Tyrexian Insectoid bowed her helm, "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

Her expression softened, "And for the last time, quit addressing me as ma'am. I don't give a rat's ass about chain of command. _Avius folhis_ says nothing about it."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew. This was fun to write! :D**


	15. Chapter 13

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 13: I Can Explain?

* _Logs will be a running thing with this part of the series. Short.  
_

 _Kind of a goofy in-betweener._

* * *

 _Personal Log: Hearsay  
Time: 3210 Hours (home time)_  
 _Cycle 137 of 4 Lunar Cycle, Multi-Target Mission  
Location: Faarol System (MG8002)  
_

 _According to our resident stellar experts, the Faarol system's comprised of a youthful G1 V and five companion satellites. We did a preliminary sweep and found that while the rocky planets themselves are less than habitable, thanks in no small part to their proximity to Faarol, the moons of the gas giants were far more to organic life's tastes. A scan of the surface of one such moon, Eixvn, revealed bio-signatures_ _– clusters of 'em. Biggest bunch was over twenty thousand strong. Could be evidence of population centers. We'll be getting a closer look. Captain's heading us planet-side_ – _guess I should say "moon-side"_ – _to confirm readings. No telling what we'll find down there, or if they'll be friendly. Cap'n's still debating on who to send down for this one. Can't risk botching this one.  
_

 _Rather not have another incident like with the Thraxuvans, so we're keeping Hokey Pokey on a tighter leash this time around. Gotta send her down. No way around it.  
_

 _*Note: Full details on the system are in the cap'n's logs._

 _We're (me and Riddler) also working on setting up some comm. buoys for future teams, according to survey and safety protocol. Got word in the Kluvork system that a ship went in Sector 817 and hasn't come back according to schedule. Vanished. No word yet from 'em, but we'll be checking in on Jixgon in Sector 820 for a jump to Fringe. They have enough supplies to last 'em for a couple lunar cycles if they're down, and way longer if they ration. Here's hoping no one's hurt.  
_

* * *

Every organization had a slew of rules associated with it. For the Elite Guard, the big ones all revolved around an insistence of political neutrality, moral uprightness, and upholding their oaths of service. They existed at once as a police force and a service force. The Triage Clinics obeyed a code of preservation, though they could get politic-y compared to the Guard depending on who ran them. The rescue crews, like the Liberators and the Specters, obeyed rules that all revolved around safety and ethics and generally being helpful in delicate, dangerous situations, and like the Guard, they were sworn to protect the people. Interactions between organizations and beyond them were pretty straightforward in the grand scheme. The Guard was the most transient of all groups, interacting with multiple organizations, and generally more trusted than law enforcement depending on city.

The CERF was a little more complicated. And weirder. Sort of.

Survey ships — they had some of the more extensive protocols owing to their very nature. Ships like that were the vanguards into new, unexplored territory. It was their allotted task out of the bunch to sneak into the unknown, earning them the affectionate, teasing titles of "Trekkers" among their colleagues. Because of their nature they had to be delicate and cautious when exploring new worlds, particularly ones inhabited. Rules like "Avoid first contact with creatures below Level 3 to prevent deification," "New languages constitute universal modes of communication, such as gestures, but it is vital to study first to avoid misinterpretation" and "Xeno-biologists are mandatory for survey class vessels, but are to be monitored closely during exploratory expeditions," were just some such rules survey ships like the captain's had to obey. Severe infractions could lead to a loss of position — permanently.

 _'Rules, rules, rules,_ ' he ruminated. ' _What's a civil society without rules?_ '

"BJ, meet me in the 'bridge chamber."

He turned to face the Avioid on her perch, "Eh?"

"Moon has lower gravity and a thick atmosphere. Perfect for flight and sustained gliding. Besides," she continued as hopped off, "we won't get spotted as easy."

Not taking the resident XB with her – risky. And, strictly speaking, against protocol.

"It's a fly-over," she reminded him. "Hokey Pokey can't fly. But –"

He smiled.

"But," she repeated. "I'll have her send one or two bio-drones so she can get some readings of her own. I'm not gonna keep her from doing her job."

"Cheeky, cheeky," he grinned. "Better make sure they're on their best behavior then."

Leeway chittered and clicked from his post.

"Give her _some_ credit, Lee," Zodiac urged. "Eagerness doesn't mean a bad scientist. Her research was fascinating."

Allele's eagerness, while not as negative a trait as Leeway believed, was akin to _taoth_ in his opinion, he said — in moderation it was helpful, but too much could lead to adverse side effects. Did that mean she was incapable of learning to moderate it? Absolutely not.

A deep-toned trill escaped the helmsmech as his smooth, low pauldrons rolled in a shrug. The Avioid shrugged back and left the bridge. He stepped up and took her post in the center of the bridge. His optics remained fixed on the visual feed. Pale, thick, silver clouds swirled around the ship into a dense blanket that put Kaon's foundry district on a bad day to shame. Simba's readings said it thinned out nearer to the ground, but was thickest right smack in the middle — so thick the ship's deep pulse scanners were having a hard time seeing through at points. He found himself rubbing his chin without really thinking about it. Finding them under that mess would be like finding a spring in a scrapyard. Problem, that.

" _Though b_ _road_ _and deep the cloud-sea_ _churns_ ," he muttered, " _we plunge below to further learn._ "

Leeway buzzed.

He winked at him, "Shakespeare ain't the only one on this tub who's got a way with words!"

The otter-mech's twinkling optics betrayed the smile behind his oral cover.

Releasing a gust of hot air, he leaned onto one trod and peered once more into the roiling sea of silver. He brought up the live feed from the scanners in a flick of his wrist. In the margins of the feed, a text communication appeared from Manifest. He opened it in a tap. The Requisitions Officer had, per his careful, always-prepared nature (he refused to call him paranoid), attached tracker beacons to each of the two ladies and the two bio-drones Allele had decided to send, Tinker Bell and Buzz. He sent back a confirmation. Half a breem later and all four tracker beacons blinked to life within the swirling cloud banks, all four signals' telemetry maintaining a steady pace in their descent. He smiled. Snickety could be trying some cycles, and Combustor may grunt and swear at him over his quirks, but the fauxline officer had a valuable knack for solving a problem while keeping all parties satisfied. As Manifest always chanted, "it pays to prepared for anything." Sometimes, of course, you could prepare and prepare all you liked, and something would go wrong — that was how life was. An unexpected variable could fly in without warning, throwing you off. Manifest would never admit that though; he believed that mantra of his.

He hit another holo-key, "How's it going, girls?"

" _Pit, it'sreallyhardtoseeinthismess_ — _youwouldn'tbelieveitunlessyouwerehere, Dodger! ButIgottaadmitshewasright_ — _perfectglidingconditions! AndcanIjustsayAllele'sdronesaresooooocute?!_ "

Zodiac groaned from her end, " _Dodger, don't bait her, please._ "

Suppressing a chortle, he promised that hadn't been his intent. Was it his fault Freefall loved to talk?

" _We're gonna go radio silent once we get past the thickest part of the clouds,_ " Zodiac warned. " _Can't be sure yet if the life here is Level 5 and has radio capabilities to hijack our transmissions._ "

"Gotcha," he said. "No rush. Just be sure to beep us when you're on your way back up."

" _M'kay._ "

* * *

Patience, he mused as second joor ticked past, was a requirement for a CERF member; just as the universe was not hurried in its evolution, they were not rushed in their assignments. Survey ships, however much they were tasked with, had far greater quantities of time to finish their missions. They were, after all, trekking into entirely new regions without the convenience of spacebridges waiting for them or communication buoys. Like art, it was not quantity they were really after but quality in that quantity. They _had_ to have solid data — other crews coming in for in-depth analysis could get neck-deep in scrap if they didn't have all the information they needed.

Scouting missions onto specific lunar or planetary regions for her usually lasted around a joor at most. But she had three helpers this time to make the scouting much more efficient — and she wasn't back yet.

From his post off to the right, the helmsmech cheeped, buzzed, and trilled. He did not need to understand his unique auditory binary to know his concern was shared.

"I'm sure they're fine, Lee," the Corvid said. "You know her. If she finds something interesting she sometimes takes longer."

He was not the type to give in to concern, but Zodiac was a creature of pattern — and she wasn't following her pattern.

One hand went towards the holographic input that semi-circled before him. As he hovered the digit over it, debating, a beep met his audials. He brought up the telemetry data of the tracker beacons. One had appeared, and as he watched, a second appeared. Then a third and fourth came in a pair.

"See?" he grinned at the helmsmech. "What'd I tell ya?"

Leeway whistled like a happy piccolo.

He opened up the silent comm. channel in a flash, "Cap'n! You good?"

" _We're fine, Dodger!_ " she assured. " _Just give us a g-bridge! The drones need a bit of a wash!_ "

"Yes, ma'am!"

He struck another holo-key. The tinkling roar of a groundbridge entered the chamber. Back-to-back both of Allele's bio-drones buzzed in on their insect-wings, their spherical bodies covered in what he assumed was paint. It wasn't the childish scribbles and splashes of a primitive civilization — it reminded him of the sacred paint and war paint used by Predacons. Tinkerbell was covered in green and gold vegetative designs, and Buzz was covered in lightning markings. He couldn't wait to hear the story behind the paint jobs, and apparently neither could their owner. The doors to the bridge opened and Allele scuttled in. Beeping, the drones turned to meet her, landing in each open hand so she could lift them up and nuzzle them against her faceplates, crooning that she was happy to see them safe. Each chirped back.

Smiling, his attention went back to the groundbridge.

He stared at what came through.

Zodiac. Her beast form was covered in paint designs, adorned with jewelry of semi-precious stone held together by thin, braided vines, her talons and beak polished to a shine, and an elaborate crown of feathers and flowers on her head. Freefall followed her through in a similar state.

He stared more.

"What in the...?"

* _Um...yeah. I-I can explain?_ *

He recovered and grinned, "Go on, then. I'm putting this one down for the records."

Perching, she explained.

* * *

"— and even though we couldn't understand their language, once we got across to them we weren't there to cause trouble, they pretty much opened the gates to us and treated us like royalty. We tried to tell them that wasn't necessary but they wouldn't listen. Their cities are all up on rocky spires and in the mountains, and they're a reptilian, feathered species with membranal wings — they can fly. Sort of. It's like gliding, really."

She held her hand out to emit a holographic image of the new species. Reptilian indeed, with scales poking out and glittered from beneath its thick coat of feathers, but its skeleton design was slightly more avian in nature. The thick beak, too, was avian. Feathers swept up from each cheek. Its long tail had long-outward facing feathers that would catch air currents and create lift, and its arms had wings connected to them that extended out to an impressive eleven feet, clawed hands on the wing's underside permitting for grasping. The way the spine arched told of a species halfway between bipedal and quadrupedal. Hooked talons on the feet. Predatory species in that sense, but the beak struck him as belonging to a seed-eater. The one scanned had an impressive mohawk crest that ran down its head and petered out at the start of its dorsal region.

"They actually get around on local wildlife they've domesticated. Allele can get you all the biological details on the life we catalogued. Anyway, they were fascinated by us, and really respectful. So we stuck around, let them investigate us, poke and prod us — the offspring really, really liked Allele's bio-drones," she laughed, "but when we had to tell them we had to leave by pointing at the sky, they apparently took that as —"

"They thought you were deities?"

She shrugged, "I mean, I guess?"

Jackdaw groaned. She could guess why.

"It's not all bad!" she insisted. "We got to negotiating with the local leader — big female; seems they're a matriarchal society — and they seemed okay with the idea of putting a small outpost here on _Eixvn_ — they call it Irotep I think — the planet I mean, not the city we were in — the city's called Arxon — so long as we don't cause any damage to their environment. It's really fragile because almost everything is symbiotic."

Her lieutenant sighed, "Anything else we need to put down in the report?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "The temple they have — it looked like the bridge of an old star-ship that crashed into the mountain. Allele got panoramic views for analysis."

He leapt at that, "What?"

She nodded, "Yeah! That's how they caught us coming — they got the scanners working through trial and error some time ago I think, and they tracked our arrival with them. They have radio communication and rudimentary wireless communication as well through reverse engineering the stuff from the ship crash. So they're at least Level 6. Which makes me think they didn't really deify us on arrival — they incorporated the 'metal aliens from space' religion a long, long time ago, but nothing about our treatment struck me as religious. It was more like a celebration when they greeted us. All 'Hey the metal people are back! Woo!' sort of thing."

Jackdaw massaged his chin, "Hm. Interesting. So they've been visited before?"

"I'm not totally sure," she admitted. "We didn't find —"

The bridge doors opened again. It wasn't often Combustor emerged from the den of the power core, but whenever he did he made himself known.

"Glitch," he greeted.

"Botch-baby," she returned. "So. Any idea 'bout the ship-temple thing?"

"Isnae modern," he grunted as projected his own hologram of what remained of the vessel. "Thing's somewhere between Silver and Golden Age in design jest from lookin' at it. Fecking shame I cannae get into the databanks. Some rootin' in her brains and I might find what made her go down in the first feckin' place. Those old things were built to last. The damage is mostly from them gutting her, but least they treated her with respect when doin' it."

"Her?" Jackdaw wondered.

"Ship's are always female," Combustor growled, "unless I judge otherwise."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah. Some weird stuff happens when Zodiac's working.**


	16. Chapter 14

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 14: Lady's Language

* _I like to swap around perspectives for the different crew members. This is more like a vignette for Combustor. I just love him to death. :3 I will admit, I kinda based his and Zoe's friendship off Beatrice and Benedick from "Much Ado About Nothing"_ _– a constant sass war, but with lots more swearing and playful insult-throwing involved.  
_

* * *

Ships were like cyber-cats. They had moods. They had personalities. Some ships were easier to interpret than others, and some were better behaved. The _Intervention_ was a proud old thing, sturdy and experienced. The _Solstice Matador_ was a dour, determined young _jvinrten_. The _Data Junkie_ was a Red-addled maniac, prone to bursts of attitude and energy only an Altihexian crew could handle. Some ships had an intelligence to help run them, big or small, but he'd always found those ships to be less interesting in their moods. When they lacked an AI was when they were really allowed to have personalities.

The Lady he liked to believe was as close as a ship could get to being a real cyber-cat. She was young. She was eager. And frack if she weren't capricious some cycles. Her moods shifted around in a wild, unpredictable manner, faster than a catty Seeker femme. He could always tell when something happened on or off the Lady. She was chatty, chattier than most ships he knew. Somethin' funny happened inside her, she'd shake and tremble and natter to get his (and his underlings') attention. Most times it was just a valve needing adjusting, or a conduit or sensor array needin' some care. She was picky that way, the Lady was. Crew had to be all accounted for, too. That was a big one. If one member was missing from the roster, the fit that followed would be enough to put Star Saber's to shame. Whenever Leeway left the deck (rare, that) there was always a historic fit that followed, her core screaming and fluxing. The longer and further away he was, the bigger that fit became. Music was the best cure he'd found. Whenever the mutt got somewhere she shouldn't, she'd howl and wail in that area till she was safe and out. She liked the mutt, but she didn't like her slobber. Picky little glitch all around. She'd settle after those instances were handled, happy to purr to herself like a lovesick _thost_ after a night with a client.

Discovery – that was what got her really going though. There was always a buzz in the air like the Lady herself was psyched about a discovery alongside all the blighters that roamed her innards. Her spark at such times always had a tendency to flux and hum inside its chamber, and he could never get her to settle the frack down until the discovery was all neatly catalogued by that _huetven lyok_ on the bridge. Her frame would shudder and her spark would hum once life was confirmed on the surface of a world. A young Tigerhawk she was at times of discovery, ready to plunge from the tip of the Keltan Spire, and take everyone along for the dive.

He never really had to leave her spark chamber. The Lady told him everything. She could speak her language to him – he'd hear her.

The Lady shuddered and growled. Her spark readings danced.

"She'sbeendoingthingforalmostfourjoorsnow! Solus,you'dthinktheshiphadfouledrationsorsomething!"

"Oi!" he snapped. "Yoor ramblin' isnae gonna help, _ajtreq vu fntaein_!"

The grey, black, and white form clinging to the ceiling above retreated. He stroked the wall nearest to him with one hand, another holding a data pad and the second set crossed over his chassis. The vibrations were only getting more intense. She was sick – sick off a cocktail of excitement and worry.

"No alerts?"

"Nada!" answered Jumpstart. "She's runnin' smooth, boss. Just worried, I think. Out here in the middle o' nowhere, in a storm, no 'bridges, no buoys – enough to give me the tingles."

His hand continued to stroke the wall until the knells quieted to a low hum. But her spark did not settle and the air remained charged, and her frame rattled and shook as the winds outside buffeted her and howled. He could feel her frame fighting against the gales and lightning. Flying into storms wasn't exactly new to her; that Vizanthan _jtnan_ needed data to work from, and the best way to get it was take a swan dive. Solar storms were the ones to set her off like this, though, not planetary ones. Kinetic barriers absorbed the brunt of such atmospheric storms should a ship need to get intimate with one. The Lady, while resilient, could handle only up to an E8 storm. Not even the Red-addled _Junkie_ was batshit crazy enough to go diving into storms past that rank. So what was the Lady doing pissing about the measly E4 squall outside?

"Shields?" he grunted.

"Holdin' good," reported Jumpstart, looping his middle digit to his thumb.

He massaged his chin-guard with a thumb and digit. Not being clear wasn't like the Lady. She operated on exacts.

"Feckin' Pit-fire," he swore, "quit with the bitching and tell me!"

The answer, when it came, came in spectacular fashion. Something struck from the outside with enough force to shake her frame like wire-grass in the wind, topple the chattering menace from her perch on the ceiling, and make Jumpstart, normally sure-trodded, fall to the ground in a comedic flail. His tactile net throbbed in pain around his chin-guard and abdominal plating. Only through his fritzing vision did he realize he'd fallen alongside them all. As his vision re-calibrated, he hefted himself up through one set of arms and examined the room. The running lights in the chamber flickered wildly like glitter-wings caught under a street lamp. Lightning hissed and spat from the consoles. He reached forward and grabbed the data pad that had skittered away during the fall. Readings from the shields were fluxing and spiking alongside her spark as she tried to remedy the damage. Frantic, he ran a diagnostic on the Lady's systems. She was unhurt overall, but the shielding near her stern was fractured badly, and two of the tertiary thrusters had been hit to boot. He didn't even care the damage to her frame was mostly cosmetic.

"Status!" he barked.

"I'm good!" Jumpstart groaned.

"Scrapwhatwasthat?!" Freefall cried in alarm. "BythewayI'malivetoo!"

Fury bubbled in his chassis. Angrily he slammed one hand onto the holographic input of his console.

"SIMBA!" he howled. "Ya got three kliks to find someplace ta hide, and when I find ya I'm shish-kebabing ya on the world's biggest spit-roast!"

* * *

The door to the power core slammed shut so hard that the tiny motion sensor by its threshold shook as if in a cyber-quake.

"Welp," her partner clicked. "I guess now we get to see what would've happened if Scar had actually _won_ that final boss fight in the _Lion King._ "

She eyed him angrily in silence before turning her attention back to the many visual and motion feeds dotted around the ship. Clicking, one wiry digit touched a holo-key. Moments later she observed one of the heavy bulkheads slam down in front of the irate Ophidian. Another key, and another slammed down behind him, trapping him in that section of corridor. Combustor seethed. She opened a line to the intercom speaker in that section.

"Scald the fool does serpent want

to settle sandy err

But think to wise and cool detente

before loud threats you blare."

The Ophidian eyed the intercom in mute fury as his fires faded.

" _Fine,_ " he snorted. " _I have a ship to see to anyway._ "

"Harm is done to Lady's screen

so mend in hurried haste

Just remember your bond between

kin must not go to waste."

She touched the keys again and the bulkheads lifted. The Ophidian, still simmering like the old campfire he was, retreated to his domain to nurse his Lady back to health.

"And the Riddler wins again!" Hearsay laughed.

" _Nice save, Shakespeare,_ " a scratchy female voice applauded over her comm. link. " _Tell me when he's cooled off okay and I'll send Sirocco down to help with the repairs._ "

* * *

He put his hand on the walls again. The Lady was trembling, but no longer from the storm. He could still detect residual electricity coursing through her, not yet fully dispersed by the voltaic distributors, the lingering sting making her uncomfortable the same way a turbo-fox would be after sticking its snout into a nest of watt-wasps. She'd taken worse before, but her pain was his – and whenever she was in pain she became a rebellious _hov'fyor_ , difficult to talk to, vindictive towards the blighters that had gotten her hurt in the first place, but wanting comfort from them all the same.

"Freefall, see ta the shielding matrix," he ordered brusquely, "and Jumpstart, get a look at the ionic inhibitors. Won't be able ta get a look at the telluric receivers on her stern till we're outta this miss, but they need seein' to. That was a mighty hit they took. Funnel more power to the others ta play it safe."

"Gotcha!"

"Surethingwilldo!"

The two underlings scattered to perform their tasks. He remained by the wall a moment longer before approaching the Lady's pulsing heart. The rhythm was off from what it had been before, faster and telling of pain and anxiety. Gingerly he reached one hand out and activated his speakers, optics shuttering. Music, the strumming twang of a terrestrial instrument, soon met the charged air of the chamber. They would hear him, no fecking doubt about that, but he wasn't ashamed the way the captain was. Sometimes the Altihexian _tqyin_ joined in, his voice smoother and better made for softer notes his hoarse voice couldn't create.

" _Three-thirty in the mornin' not a soul in.  
City's lookin' like a ghost town a moonless summer night.  
Raindrops on the windshield there's a storm movin' in  
She's headed back from somewhere that she never should have been._

 _And the thunder rolls...  
And the thunder rolls..._

He did not need to see to know the Lady's spark had calmed. He felt it. The charge in the air lessened.

" _Every light is burnin' in our little roamin' house  
He's pacin' by the telephone in a faded flannel blouse  
Askin' for a miracle, or hopin' he's not right  
Prayin' it's the weather that has kept her out all night_

 _And the thunder rolls...  
And the thunder rolls...  
And the lightnin' strikes!_

 _Another love grows cold on a sleepless night  
as the storm goes on, out of control.  
Deep in her heart: the thunder rolls._

 _He's waiting by the window when she pulls into the drive  
He rushes out to hold, thankful she's alive..._

"Wegotsuperluckythematrixisfineandholding! Didsometuneupsanywayjustobesafe."

Freefall's prattling voice broke the music so abruptly his speakers shut off before he knew he'd done it. He glanced up to where she clung like some demented Draculian from the ceiling. He held in the sharp bite-back and nodded.

"Anythingelseyouneedlookedat?"

He managed a wry smile, "More audio files'd be nice. Think you can snag some?"

The little glider chirped and darted away towards the doors. Just as she was passing through, the doors closed hard and fast her tail. Freefall squeaked in protest, and her tail was quickly yanked free.

He laughed, "Easy, ya _bilrn'xpn._ Glitch is just trying to help."

Four knells of different tones answered back, sounding eerily similar to the little chorus of the song.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I know, I know. It's another short vignette, but this is about all I can manage at the moment. :/  
**

 **Edit: added a little more. Combustor may act the big scary bruiser, but he's a sweet as a mother hen when it comes to caring for the ship. He often sings country songs to the _Bolt_ the same way Charity and CF sing to Sen. :) The song is "the Thunder Rolls" by Garth Brooks.  
**


	17. Chapter 15

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: First Star I See Tonight**

Part 15: _Ijl'vid_

* _This is the final "voyage" episode before we take a pit-stop at Fringe and check in with things on Cybertron. Little more of an emphasis on the archaeological aspect of exploration for this one, kind of as an homage to the pre-history and archaeology class I'm taking. Hopefully that can help this seem far more authentic. :)  
_

* * *

The towering buildings surrounding the grand plaza, each seeming to weep through the rain stains that dripped from their roofs and eaves – or what was left of them. In the buildings visible through the noxious smog, their metal skeletons of steel were laid bare to the wrath of the acidic rain that plagued this miserable planet. There was little in the way of greenery or organic life out in the open. What little survived in this nightmare had retreated into the cover of the buildings or below the ground, gathering their sustenance from the stone and metal alone. The strange bristling bloom on the wall to her side shone in a sickly yellow-green, as if formed from bile. Nothing moved out in the abandoned, cracked roads. Not anymore. Lights that lined those streets, beautiful, spidery, abstract things that stretched over the roads in a thin, carefully wrought canopy, were cracked, corroded, and long dark. The corroding awning above was the only thing that kept the acid rain from antagonizing her and the two mechs trapped out in the middle of a main thoroughfare. She shuddered under the ramshackle shelter as she peered through the acidic drizzle. The skeleton of what might have once been a power plant could be discerned far out in the smog and acidic mist, a great hulking thing like an old dead titan-beast, no longer belching forth its fumes.

Detecting the structures from space had been exciting. Buildings, artificial structures of any kind really, meant something had built them, signaling life. Intelligent life. But not this time. This city, this world, had been dead for centuries at the least for such degradation to have set in. The haunting remnants of their architectural genius was all that was left of that life.

A dead city, inhabited only by the dead.

And they were intruding.

Of course they weren't, the rational part of her processor protested. Trespassing implied someone was there to catch them and try them in a court of law. No one was there aside from her crew. Whatever had killed this civilization had been devastating – devastating and completely thorough. Nothing organic could survive the constant sour attack from above. The pH of the rain was between zero and one at this point in time, enough to damage and dissolve weaker organic compounds and structures like skin or textiles. And yet the Predacon portion of her processor was arguing back through a tightening of her feathers and a wash of anxiety. No one was there, but she felt she – all of them – were being watched. She had to wonder if this culture had had some form of _Hyn'dfen Æfæn soum vitlrn_ , but no structures had looked remotely shrine or temple-like on the scans, and her optics said the same. Everything here was scientific and industrial. Part of her admired it. Another part of was revolted. They had not cared for their world – only for progress. That had been their undoing.

"You're doin' it again," Codex grunted softly as he sifted through the soil.

The hand stopped plucking at her radial plating. "Find anything yet?"

Codex finished with the sieve and gingerly plucked out a few small items using a pair of forceps. One bit he held up closer to his optics for analysis.

"Bit of skeletal structure," he said. "Hard to tell what it is from this piece."

He sifted through more until he had a small handful of pieces. A scanner swept over them.

"Hn! Well that's interesting."

Rampart ceased his digging and scrambled out of the excavation pit he'd happily been digging. "What?"

"The skeletal structure bears traces of dolomite interwoven into the mineral lattice that must've been in their skin as well. They had some natural immunity to acids, it seems."

"Wasn't enough to save them obviously," muttered Rampart.

"Obviously. But it corroborates Sirocco's findings that the atmosphere has always had some natural toxicity. Industrialization must've made it spin out of control by dredging up and producing more toxic chemicals that had formerly sunk into the soil and stone."

"But is it wildlife or one of the city's inhabitants?" she wondered.

"Impossible to tell from these segments alone," Codex confessed. "I'll need something more complete to form an idea of the body. We'll need to dig deeper; the acid rain seeping most likely destroyed anything of real value this close to the surface, and cities as a general rule are typically built atop other former structures. What could help me more is finding a library or an archive in this city. A civilization as advanced as this one was had to have kept records of their history and culture somewhere, written or pictorial, but the slagging acid rain ain't bein' any help in exploration."

"The rain isn't any more acidic than produced by Kaon's storms," she reminded him. "I can run a sweep of the city and report back. The rain won't bother me too bad."

Codex hemmed at her offer before giving in with a simple "Be quick."

Removing a pair of protective goggles from her subspace, she transformed and soared into the dreary drizzle. The droplets themselves were quite cold, but when they contacted her plating there was a sizzle that reminded her of a Terran frying pan. Her plating was more durable than a typical city-dweller, but she'd have to hop from shelter to shelter to protect her poor plating from corrosion. Lucky, then, that the towering buildings offered at least something in the way of shelter. Tucking her wings in, she dove into the shelter of one such structure. Whatever had built them had to have been at least seven feet in height, she guessed, judging by the size of the doorway, and had had longevity in mind. This city still stood surprisingly intact after all this time. It was sort of like Kaon she realized in a flash – a small-scale Kaon turned into a ghost town. With no one to reverse the damage done to the buildings, the weather was slowly toppling them drop by drop.

* * *

Some time of playing peek-a-boo with the acid rain had caused discouragement and a bubbling annoyance. Most of the buildings were too corroded to provide anything intact enough for study within them, and they all looked deceptively similar in their dilapidated states. Something through the haze caught her gaze though: a simple, circular, three-story building on the outskirts of the city. Something different.

Her cascader closed the distance quickly.

Different as the structure was in architectural design, it had fared no better than the other buildings. Rain poured through its barely present roof and onto a collection of intricately carved tiles that ate up most of the rotunda's floor. The rotunda itself housed shelves upon shelves of stone tablets and leather-backed tomes that lined the walls, each shelf carved into the building's very walls. Oddly medieval, she noted, for the advanced city they sat in. The tomes were in a sorry state, mostly dissolved by now, but the stone tablets had fared better. Something might be gleaned from them at any rate. She darted over to a shelf mostly shielded from the rain above, gingerly extracting one such tablet. No dust – acid mist had solved that issue, revealing without delay that the tablet was covered in densely packed carved writing. No images though.

But the uniquely carved tiles on the floor – tiles like that usually were an indicator for art. If they could get some of the debris cleared and the tiles partially restored...

"Dodger?"

[Aye?]

"Use these coordinates for the 'bridge and get Codex over here, please."

[One 'bridge comin' right up!]

The portal swirled open with a soft bang and a quiet tinkling roar, and her hunching Reptoid historian emerged from it. She took a perch on a weathered decorative plinth, whatever had once been on it long gone.

"That was quick," he noted through a smirk.

She couldn't help puffing her chestplates out. * _Can I get a thank you?_ *

He snorted softly "Predacons..." and refused to give what she asked for. "Get to work clearing some of the floor debris, would you?"

* _And need I remind you I outrank you, so strictly speaking I can ignore that request and put it on someone else?_ *

The Reptoid huffed back, "Fine. Then start scanning what's on those tablets into the ship's database. I'll get the floor cleared."

She pulled a small sphere from her sub-space and set to work. As she took each stone tablet out, the sphere emitted a scanning beam over its carved surface. She had to wonder why there were no images on any of them. Hopefully when it was put through the quantum linguistics database on the ship there would be some kind of answer after translation.

"Huh. That's a little odd."

She turned back to the Reptoid, "What?"

He gestured to the semi-cleared floor, "Look. What do you see?"

Her helm tilted to the side. There was indeed an image made out of the thousands of small, carved tiles: a hunched, heavily armored figure, in a front-facing position with thick, sturdy legs like columns, and powerful, reptilian fore limbs held a stone tablet like the ones on the shelves as if in offering to those who had once walked over the image. But there was something missing from the image. And not just missing she realized as Codex brushed aside more of the debris: removed. The head of the image was gone, the tiles wrenched from their slots and the surrounding tiles badly scratched.

"They didn't just deface the mural," she said. "They _literally_ defaced it."

"Seems so," agreed Codex. "I wonder why...?"

"Fear?" she guessed.

Codex rose from the ground in a creaking of joints to tower over the mural, "Not sure about fear. Defacing can have political motivations, not just cultural or emotional motivation. Remember the images from the Roya Vossar tombs created during the Shifting Sands Era?"

She nodded, "Former rulers that the people didn't like had their insect wings and second set of eyes removed in images depicting them. You think the same thing happened here?"

"Maybe not the _exact_ same thing," Codex admitted, "since every culture has unique aspects, but probably along similar lines. The main difference is that this image is in a building dedicated to knowledge, not in a tomb dedicated to a political figure."

"But destroying something in a library can have political ramifications," she argued. "Knowledge and politics are related. Alter one and you can alter the other."

Codex smiled, "Clever bird."

"You think I'm right?"

"There's no way to know for sure yet, not until we get those tablets translated, but you may be on the right track."

"Why deface just the image then?" she wondered. "None of these tablets look defaced to me."

"We don't know that. A change of words from the original can be seen as defacing."

"But these are stone tablets," she retorted. "You can't exactly do that without leaving some evidence."

"Not if they simply replaced the old ones with new ones," he pointed out dryly.

"But why go to all that trouble? What happened that they would want to erase it from history?"

Codex backed away and circled the floor mural, a thumb against a cheek and his index digit supporting his chin guard, every once in a while giving the ground a faint tap of his trod. Considering the figure was holding a tablet much like the ones in the building, he said slowly, he assumed the figure was either someone of physical importance – perhaps the creator of the building or someone of significance in its history – or they could be dealing with the defacing of a religious image. If this were a religious image, then that could indicate the culture had undergone a kind of iconoclasm in their history. Whether or not that had had any effects on the planet itself he couldn't say. The effects of an iconoclasm or any kind of political upheaval could have far-reaching consequences.

Her gaze snapped away from the tablet in her hands and over to him, "You're not hinting that the iconoclasm had an effect on the environment, are you?" she asked.

"No, no," said the Repoid dismissively as he began to wander the room. "An iconoclasm's effects are usually political or societal in nature, not envi–"

He cut off when one trod met the ground near the back of the building, beneath where the roof had once been, followed by a loud grumbling noise from beneath him. Then the ground gave way in a great roar of crumbling stone and tile. His back hunched over further. He tried to run towards stable ground ahead of him on all fours, managing to grasp one thick, clawed hand to what was left of the floor, but when he tried the other the floor gave way, forcing the hand back into open air.

She abandoned the tablet in hand and the drone near her helm and leapt for the gap.

"Hand!" she cried.

He flung the other hand up. She took hold and pulled, deploying a talon from the back of her trod deep into the tile as an anchor, but she slid forward regardless.

Codex looked down, then back up, "Let go!"

" _Are you crazy?!_ " she shrieked. "You don't know how far down that goes!"

"My scanners were gettin' a hit for solid ground down there!" he said quickly. "Survivable distance! Let go!"

She didn't want to, but she did. Codex's hand slipped loose and he fell down into the dark.

She rushed to the edge, transformed, and flew after him. She heard him land on all fours before she caught sight of him again. He seemed unharmed as he busied himself brushing the dust and debris from his hands.

"Me an' my big mouth," he griped in surprisingly good humor.

Her beast form was dropped, "What happened?"

He looked back up towards the hole in the ground above, "See how those beams up there snapped? Acid rain must've taken a toll on that supporting metal after all this time; probably the stone too. In the past they would've been maintained, but without the upkeep my weight and tap-dancing was too much for the old things. But," he mused, "as long as we're down here we might as well have a look around. Think you could offer some light? Something tells me night vision won't be helpful here."

She made a face, "I'm your _captain_ , aft, not your personal lumi-drone."

"I'm not asking for me," he snorted back. "You need the light as much as I do."

"Do I?"

Codex's optics rolled, "Oh for the love of –"

Giggling, her diodes lit up on command, casting a soft white glow around where she stood that slowly brightened to the right level.

"Thank you," said the mech. "Now let's get a good look around, shall we?"

She transformed and took wing, circling above her historian's helm so he could save the sights to his long-term for later storage. But something made her plating prickle. She wasn't sure what it was until the fourth or fifth loop around. It was the pillar-like walls around them – they were the same as the ones up above, but these, and the empty stone shelves grafted to them, were upside down. And if they were upside down, then the ground Codex was standing on was actually the roof. Good old Codex caught on to the design quirk, too, mere astroseconds after she did.

"Well that's interesting," he noted. "They created an inverse mirror of the structure above directly underneath it."

Carefully, the Reptoid tapped his right trod against the "ground" and waited for the echo. His optics widened. She chirped at him curiously. What had he detected?

"This is unbelievable..." he murmured.

* _What? What is it?_ *

He motioned for her, "Come. Follow," he grunted. "Follow!"

She followed. He led her out between the columns onto untouched stone. Codex's own luminescent markings lit up, turquoise in hue, and, reaching into a compartment on his arm, he pulled out ten little lumi-drones to provide even more light for them to explore by. The darkness gave way under the glare of their combined light. The inverted library was far from alone. All around, carved out of limestone untouched by the acid rain above, was a mirror of the city they had just been in, flipped on its head, hidden away beneath the ravaged surface. And the detail – the sheer complexity of the carved buildings was superb. Artistic flourishes not visible on the surface were plain to see in the mirrored copy – reptilian heads, smooth in design, not angular, emerged from the tops of many buildings like graceful gargoyles. Up above, statues, metal lamps created from an artistic weave, and dry fonts were suspended in a bat-like manner.

If this was intended to mirror the city above, then this city had once been glorious in design. Absolutely stunning.

"Incredible..." the old historian exhaled. "The technological acumen that's needed to create something like this, on this scale –"

she perched on his helm, * _What led them to do this? Why go to this amount of trouble?_ *

"I don't know," he admitted in surprising stupefaction. "It seems excessive to me, and dangerous. But if they devoted the time, effort, and resources to create it, it has to have significance."

* _Would this be recorded in the tablets up top?_ *

"I wouldn't count on it too much. Libraries aren't necessarily all like the ones we have or the one back on Fringe. If this was considered a privatized project by the species, I'm unsure it would be documented as a public record. Pit, we don't even know if that building was a public institution or not."

The mech gave another light tap of his trod. A wave of his hand sent five of the lumi-drones ahead of him until, eventually, after nearly a two breems of walking, they hit a wall. But it wasn't a blank wall untouched by stonemason tools – it was expertly divided into a great grid of squares, from the very top to the very bottom and as far left and right as the wall went. It reminded her of an ancient morgue. She remembered seeing something like it on Uktena: "beds for the dreamers" the Jhnahi called them, a mix between grave-and-coffin burials and the columbarium from Earth.

"Hn," Codex grunted. "Interesting."

He knelt, calling two lights closer for a better look at one of the boxes. His hand traced a series of carvings that went around the perimeter of the stone.

She transformed and leaned in for a closer look. The carvings, though hard to discern, looked inverted from the carvings she had seen up above on the tablets. Or at least she thought they looked inverted. It was hard to tell.

"Carvings are inverted, too," Codex muttered. "How strange."

"Think it's a name?"

"Since we know nothing about the structure of their language yet, it very well could be. Or it could be a parting message. But with this here, I think I figured out what the upside down city is for."

"It's a city built for the dead," she agreed. "They took the time, effort, and resources to make a literal copy of the city above so the dead could live in it."

"But why flip it?" he wondered. "That's something I've never seen before."

"This is just a guess," she forewarned him, "but maybe they saw the afterlife as an inverse of the living plane?"

Codex's old optics brightened, "Or," he said quickly, "perhaps they thought the sight of the dead was inverted, so something upside down for the living would be right side up for the dead?"

"Why not both?"

Codex acceded to the possibility. The tablets, hopefully, would tell more.

"Any way to open one of these things and get a peek for a biological scan?"

"Zodiac, I'm surprised at you," he scolded. "I thought Predacons were against tomb desecration."

Her optics rolled, "It's one body, and we'll put it right back. We need a bio-scan for the records."

The historian leaned in closer and traced a single digit around the edge of the stone box. He detached his kit from his hip, rummaging until he found a dynamic trowel. He carefully slid the blade in between the base of the box and the surrounding stone. It took a while of levering and scraping, but a gap wide enough to fit his hand was formed in time, and then the same was done to the top of the box. Both clawed hands slit into the slots, and the claws dug into the stone. Codex tugged until the box was halfway out, then jerked his helm at her to get the other end. Scrambling to the right spot, she grabbed hold and helped him lug the thing out onto the ground in a swirl of fine dust.

"Now," he huffed, "let's see who's inside."

* * *

He gazed at the ghostly hunched figure before him, circling it in the soft light of his quarters. An impressive body build. Heavily armored like a Terran tortoise to protect against the acid rain, and thick skin offered similar shielding. Heavy limbs, powerful and well muscled, possessed thick hands that clutched at what he assumed was a ceremonial mace. The head was a strange mix of crocodile and tortoise, bearing a pronounced beak but lined with sharp teeth and a crest of dragon-like scales that ran from head to beneath the armor of the neck. Two well-sized eyes at the front of the head indicated a predator-based species, though the heavy limbs with their thick claws were better suited for a digging.

Well adapted to the planet, and yet it hadn't saved them.

He turned to the holo-display on his desk where the ship was still busy endeavoring a translation. The quantum link it had to the database on Cybertron was speeding the process along nicely, but the story they were telling was still only partial.

"Strange race, you were," he muttered.

A rapid-fire tapping came from the wall beside the sliding doors.

"Enter!" he grunted loudly.

The Avioid in charge swooped in to land on his outstretched, balled hand. Chirping, she inquired over short-band of his progress.

"The species apparently referred to themselves as the V'Quosalak," he said. "In their language, it means 'of the heavy plates.' That underground city we found is exactly what we assumed it was: a city for the dead. _Ijl'vid_ they called it. The Reflection. And it wasn't alone. Most of the major cities we mapped from orbit have such an _Ijl'vid_ version of them."

* _And the reason they all died off?_ *

"Less clear," he admitted slowly. "But it seems industrialization happened very quickly because of their efforts to create mirror cities. The acid storms, it seems, were getting stronger. But even if they were aware of the affects, I'm not sure they could have reversed the damage they'd done in time to stop them. There's always a point of no return on organic worlds when it comes to changing atmospheres."

She shook herself, * _And the defaced mural? Is there anything about that?_ *

He was silent as he read further onto a different scanned tablet. The image on the floor, according to the building commission, was one of their god of knowledge, Khr'lash, who was once a mortal but later deified for the advancements he made in engineering and mathematics. Many of their gods, according to the writings, were once mortal beings. There was a rebel group, the No'Lkar, who 'caused problems,' and who saw Khr'lash as a traitor to their race. The ones in power saw them as a cult. They had wanted a return to the old ways, where no damage was done to the environment for the sake of these dead cities, and where bodies were buried so the acid could return them to the stone "the proper way."

"Interesting," he noted.

* _What?_ *

"Rebel group. I think they were the ones who might have defaced the mural. I'll send these up to Hearsay and Shatterveil when the database is done translating, aye? I want to make sure the translation is accurate. A ship can err. It is a program. A mech or femme with an expertise in the field cannot."

She bowed her helm in concession. Giving a final chirp, she took wing and sailed out the doors once more.

* _Keep it up, Codex,_ * came her voice.

He smiled. He padded over to his desk and sat, letting his old back curve into the hunch it so liked. Resting his helm in his cupped, clawed hands, he watched the ship translate in silence, reading along with it.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I tried to remove some of the Tomb Raider/Uncharted/Indiana Jones exaggeration of archaeology here, but also keep it in some ways.**


End file.
